


Relic

by theimaginesyouneveraskedfor



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-27 08:39:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 45
Words: 61,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14421612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor
Summary: The reader notices the stranger in her museum visits a bit too often.





	1. Chapter 1

It had taken you two weeks to notice. Not the man himself but his consistency. His dark hair was tied back behind his head, the rest hidden beneath a faded ball-cap. He barely stood out in his unadorned cargo jacket. But his hands did. The April weather had fluctuated between sunny, rainy, and unbearably winterish. Regardless, the man always wore gloves.

Outlandish fantasies of a cartoonish art thief took hold but you quickly shrugged them away. He didn’t really bother with the art.

He had come again, walking purposefully through the front doors. Not so many people visited the museum daily. Perhaps that was why he was peculiar. He kept his head low but you smiled at him in greeting. It was your job after all, even if he had yet to notice you.

You were surprised then, when he did look at you. His blue eyes met yours; so haunting and deep that they told a story as elaborate as the history hung upon the walls. He glanced away quickly, no twitch or glimmer of emotion and carried on towards the history wing; your department.

As the assistant curator of the history department, you planned and detailed every exhibit within. Unlike Holly, the curator, you enjoyed tending to those who came to patronize your work. Holly, was almost always in her office or away at a conference and you were left to take the reins. You didn’t mind so much anyhow.

The lobby of the museum led to three different wings; art, science, and history. Unfortunately, the last was the least popular. Thus it was that you had come to observe your recurring visitor.

You took the folder you had forgotten about in your thoughts about the stranger and bid farewell to Drew, the front desk assistant. You followed in the footsteps of the mysterious man, entering the history wing silently as to not disturb the few other patrons within. No tours had been booked for the day and those within had refused your offer of help. All but that one man whom you had failed to ask.

When you had asked on other days, he had merely shook his head silently and kept his eyes on the map of European battlefields of World War Two. That was where he always went. He must have had some deep fascination with the conflict for how he stood there, examining each display and object. Maybe, today he would accept your help.

“Pardon me, did you need any help or–?” He was already shaking his head and you kept yourself from sighing. It wouldn’t be so awkward if he wasn’t as standoffish as a wooden board. You followed his eyeline to the case where handwritten letters from the war were preserved and illuminated for reading. 

“You must know them each by heart for how much you read them.”

His jaw clenched and he slowly turned his head towards you, though his lips remained inert. He looked down at you unwavering and you felt as if you had committed a heinous crime against him. You swallowed and tried not to cringe.

“I didn’t mean anything by it, I just thought you’d like to see something new,” You shrugged, trying to free yourself of the tension.

He stared for a moment before tilting his head but you couldn’t decipher whether it was intrigue or irritation.

“A moment,” You stepped back and quickly skirted away.

You fled behind the information desk and into your office, exhaling shakily as you glanced at the mess of boxes and display items you had been sorting through. You took the third box from the bottom of the second row and opened it, searching as you berated yourself.  _What if you only bothered him further?_  He looked like he could be dangerous, but he could as easily just be shy.

You took the leather bound portfolio and blew the dust off. You had bought the old scrapbook at an auction and had been delighted at the state of the photos within. It was the property of a veteran who had passed away and provided a vivid visual narrative of a soldier’s life. You had been waiting to have it laminated and rebound before you would display it but one viewing could not hurt.

You came out of your office and nearly tripped over the threshold as the stranger stood on the other side of the desk. He waited patiently and watched you approach, assuring you of his interest. You set down the portfolio, turning it so that it was right side up and waved your hand over it, “Tada!”

His brow creased as he glanced up at you and you bared your teeth in a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I–It’s an old album I got from a veteran. I thought maybe you’d be interested. You seem liked you really like war history and…I’ll be quiet and let you browse. As always, if you have any questions…”

You stepped away and returned to your office, replacing the box in the stack. You’d take the album sooner to have it prepared. As it was, you had much work to do for new displays. You wondered how the man did not tire of the same unchanging section. While it was one of the more popular eras in history, it could surely do with some upgrades.

You could hear the man turning the pages through your open door as you tried to tidy up the mania in your office. The silence wasn’t so empty as before. You had only just sat down at your desk and booted your computer when you noticed the sudden dearth of noise. You looked through the slit of the blinds along the window between your office and the museum and realized the man had gone. 

As the museum technology was poorly outdated, you’d have to wait for your computer to load as it was. You went to retrieve the album only to find it still open but abandoned. You looked towards the World War Two section but it was desolate as well. The stranger must have left.

Looking to the portfolio, you found it open to what you expected would be one of the more popular photos of the bunch. The veteran whose campaign it recounted had managed a photo with the one and only Captain America; an honour even for a non-American veteran. There were still a dozen pages left to see and you wondered what had driven the man away so suddenly.

With more pressing matters awaiting you, you closed the album and sighed. The visitor would be back, though perhaps next time you should just let him be.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been three days since the stranger had abandoned the album at the information desk. He had yet to reappear and you wondered if you had driven him away for good. You should have just left him to his brooding. You hadn’t realized how his presence had grown routine.

Next to the war exhibit, a curtain hung around a newly-placed platform, concealing it from the general public. Your newest section would be there; an interwar display to provide a greater continuity between the World Wars. The Roaring Twenties and Great Depression would have a brighter stage and you were eager to complete the daunting task.

Jennifer, the intern from the local university, worked the information desk and floor as you began your work. You promised she could help you with the earlier decade and so you worked on the thirties stage. You had planned it yourself and gotten easy approval from Holly. A simple recreation of a lower class home, kitchen and a living room with displays to show what the rest of the house would look like and the economics of the time. It would be like walking into another time.

You unrolled the frayed carpet across the ‘living room’ floor, straightening it until your inner perfectionist was content. Next you carefully plied the faded wallpaper, making sure to add tears to expose the boarding behind it. You wanted it to be believable. The kitchen side of the stage would include a stove which sat in your office untouched. It was much too heavy to move on your own.

You were sweating by the time you finished the wallpaper and so you pushed through the curtain into the cool space of the gallery. Jenn was on her first lone tour with a class; she would be on the next floor in the medieval room. You adjusted your hair, some of it slipping across your forehead and nearly exclaimed as a figure drew your attention. The man was back, standing where he always did, staring at the display of war medals.

You thought of approaching him but anxiety held you back. He knew the place well enough, he made it clear he preferred to find his own way. You crossed to the information desk and sat down, logging in to access the pamphlet Holly had approved the day before. She had made a brief appearance in the museum to tell you her thoughts and give her blessing.

After printing out the promotional papers, you sat folding them mundanely, thinking of what you would do next on the stage. It would be better to do most of the work after closing hours so that you did not disturb patrons. You placed the pamphlets in a plastic stand and set them up on the desk, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

You turned back to your emails and read Holly’s daily check-in. You heard a ruffle of paper and looked up, surprised to find the man standing before you, reading the new materials. When he finished, he closed it and folded it in half, slipping it into his coat pocket.

“Your battlefield map has a mistake,” He said, “It’s small but the date on the Azzano campaign is wrong.”

“Oh?” You raised your brows. It was typical this man’s first words would be to tell you a flaw, “I’ll have a look and if it is, I’ll send out for a correction.”

You stood and rounded the desk, crossing to the World War Two section. You found Azzano on the map and took out your phone, taking a photo of the date there. You returned to your desk and searched your archives for a proper date. Sure enough, it was one day off and you’d have to go through the tedious process of having a government-issued map reprinted.

“Looks like you’re right,” You sighed as you opened a new e-mail, “I should have it fixed within the month.”

“Mmm,” He nodded, resting a gloved hand on the desk before quickly rescinding it.

You ceased your typing and looked up at him as he looked around evasively. His hands went to his pockets and then quickly to his sides. His shoulders were straight and his demeanour reminded you of the military. Maybe that was why he was so intrigued by the era.

“Did you want to finish looking at that album?” The question had his blue eyes boring into you.

“Why?” He asked sharply.

“Because I thought it would interest you. It’s my job to help people who like the same thing I do; history,” You were starting grow annoyed by the man, “I have other books and items, if you like. Some I can’t display because of regulations, but I’m sure you can handle it.”

He remained silent a moment, his face playing at thought before the suspicion drained from him. “Thank you, maybe another time,” He adjusted his ball cap.

“Well, if you want to explore a different time, I’m still working on the new thirties display. To be honest, I’ve only just started and could use a little help,” You offered, “I wouldn’t ask you to do it for free either.”

“No, you don’t have to pay me,” He waved his hand at the suggestion, “But…I’ll help.”

“Can you come back at five?” You looked at your watch, “It will be easier then. Not so many people.”

He consider it, almost as if he thought it was a trap. His left hand clenched into a fist as he nodded. “Alright, 1700 hours.”

“Thank you,” You stood, reaching to shake his hand, “Just ask for Y/N.”

He stared at your hand a moment before extending his right, forcing you to switch arms. He took your hand firmly and looked into your eyes staunchly, “James,” He introduced himself before releasing you and turning away, marching towards the door.

* * *

James had reappeared as quickly as he had left. You were standing in your open office door when you sensed another presence. You had not even heard him approach. He was eerily stealthy. He looked at you, his blue eyes emboldened by unsaid thoughts. You put on your best smile and greeted him.

“What do you need me to do?” He asked bluntly.

“Oh, um…” You hadn’t expected him to be skilled at small talk but you were disconcerted by his pointed approach, “Here, this is what I’ve been dreading most.” You led him into you office to reveal the stove which had been delivered the day before. It was a replica but heavy nonetheless. “Could you help me with it?”

He nodded and neared the stove, bending before you could react and lifting it in his arms easily. It was barely a strain and you were surprised at how strong he was. He was anything but out of shape but he looked as average as any man. He angled the stove through the door and you followed him out.

“Where am I going?” He asked, looking around the stove.

“Here,” You skirted around him and led him toward the empty platform. You had drawn back the curtains and he climbed onto it swiftly, setting the stove down lightly. “Against this wall.” You began to push on end as he did the same at the other. The stove slid against the wall easily, moving almost with your help.

James’ hand lingered on the stove, his gloved finger tips gliding over the stove door. He examined it with interest, with longing. He pulled away and turned to you, striking a stance like a soldier falling into line. His lips pressed together and his jaw clenched as if he was fighting his thoughts.

“What next?” He asked and you thought for a moment before answering. 

You were starting to think he agreed to this because he needed the distraction from whatever hid behind his tortured eyes. Perhaps the same thing which brought him to the museum everyday to stare at battlefields and regalia.


	3. Chapter 3

The next day you were ready to finish the 1930s stage. All that would be left was the twenties and with Jenn’s diligent research and help, the interwar section would be ready for display within the week, though the opening would not be till the next. James had finished most of the heavy lifting, having refused your efforts to aid him in doing so and you had ended the night on a curt farewell. 

The man was as aloof as before. His unexpected eagerness to help was curtailed by his distant proclivity. You had followed him to the front doors and locked them as you set out for your own home. For a moment you had watched him depart, walking with his hands in his his pockets, shoulders squared, and hat pulled low.  _Was he hiding from himself or other people?_

You had caught yourself more than once that day thinking of him and you were almost surprised to find him present outside your thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed as he had planted himself before before the same display, his blue eyes boring into every letter and ever picture. Back to the usual routine.

You neared with the box of random pieces still waiting to be placed within the thirties display. A few antique plates wrapped in paper, a newspaper article about the stock market crash, and other odds and ends to add authenticity. You passed behind him quietly but were stalled by his unexpected greeting.

“Hey,” He turned as you stopped, looking over at him in surprise, “You almost done?”

“Yeah,” You shrugged awkwardly, nearly dropping the box.

“Oh,” He looked slightly disappointed, “Well, if you need anymore help…”

“I wouldn’t mind some,” You offered, “Nothing big but I figure it’s always easier with some help.”

“Sure,” He looked close to smiling.  _Close_.

“Right,” You turned, nodding your head towards the curtained platform, “I’ve just got to figure out where to put all this stuff. What makes most sense.”

He followed quietly and you set down the box on the table which was central to the kitchen. You began to unpack it, spreading out the items within across the aged wood. He stepped forward suddenly and took one of the plates you had unwrapped. He stared at it, his blue eyes searching it as his gloved finger traced a crack down its right edge.

You watched his curious reaction, pausing as you watched the play of sadness and nostalgia across his feature. “My mother had a plate like this…same crack…is it a replica?”

“It’s real, I bought it at an auction…can’t remember where.” He still hadn’t stopped staring at the plate, “Your mother must have liked antiques.”

“I–I guess,” He placed the plate back and looked around, exhaling as if trying to rid himself of a chill, “Must’ve been a common dish.”

“Hmm, probably,” You continued unpacking the box, trying not to keep peeking at him intrusively. You didn’t want to chase him away so quickly. You were starting to grow used to him, even if he didn’t seem very fond of you.

* * *

“So…” You began hesitantly as you watched James mount the plates along the wall. It had taken you longer than you planned to set up the miscellany. You had excused yourself briefly to close the gallery and returned to him diligently following your prior instruction. “You like history?”

“Mmm,” He shrugged as he made sure the plate was steady in the small metal clasps, “I suppose.” He stepped back to look over the set of six plates, “I don’t know much…”

“Well, with how much time you spend in the war section, I’d figure you’d be a buff.”

“Not really,” He avoided looking at you as he neared the other side of the table, reaching for the issue of time which displayed Adolf Hitler’s face on its cover, “Just little things about it.”

You could sense the growing tension, as if he was trying not to answer you directly. It was like you were prodding a grizzly bear, waiting for it to roar and snap in turn. You thought it best to change lanes.

“How about other eras? Do you like medieval history? Victorian?”

“No, I, uh…Only really learned about those in school and not much at that,” He was talking more than you would have imagined. “American heroism and all that bullshit.”

“You’re American?” You wondered aloud curiously, “Makes sense, I suppose.”

“What do you mean?” He looked at you sharply, his suspicion a thin mask over a twinge of fear.

“I dunno, just…you don’t seem like you’re from around here,” You wanted to cringe, wishing you could have worded that differently. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know what you meant. We didn’t get involved until 1941…1942 truly. We sat on our hands and sold weapons to both sides,” His lip curled as he spoke, “It’s funny how we can tolerate inhumanity until it affects our own. Until the bombs drop on our own soil.”

“Really, that’s not what I was saying–”

“I know, I know,” He shook his head as if shaking off cobwebs, “I didn’t…I don’t know.” He crossed his arms and turned away, “I think I should go now.”

“You don’t have to,” You said meekly, confounded by him and yourself. You had somehow set him off but couldn’t fathom how. And he was taking it so personally. Yet with how he spoke of his own country, it couldn’t possibly be patriotism, at least, not in the typical sense. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” He uncrossed his arms and looked back to you, adjusting the cap he seemed to never remove, “I should be sorry. I don’t know why I got so…I gotta go.”

James seemed to be fighting with himself and before you could reply, he was stepping through the curtain and onto the gallery floor. His feet were swift and light as he marched for the door and you climbed down behind him and called his name. He didn’t seem to hear you and carried on without pause.

The door closed heavily behind him as he pushed through into the lobby and your grimaced at the gloom he had left in his stead. You supposed he may not be back the next day…but what did it matter?


	4. Chapter 4

It was the day of the opening. The Interwar Years had stirred enough buzz that a decent crowd had arrived for the first tour. You were excited to have your hard work on display at last, but it felt as if something was missing. Or rather, someone. James hadn’t returned since his outburst, if that’s what you would consider it, and you had continued your work alone.

The tour would cover more than one exhibit but is was a rebirth of your typical 20th Century narrative. The interwar years filled in significant gaps and no longer were the wars the centerpiece of the tour. Now, if only Holly would reply to your last e-mail, or even just come to the museum, you could work on redoing the Cold War years.

You were checking the tickets of the crowd waiting, greeting them with a smile as you went through. You stamped the corner of each with the date and returned them; a keepsake for some, rubbish for most. You stopped short at the end of the line, James waiting behind a family with three children. His expression was placid but as he looked at you, he almost smiled.

“You’re here,” You said as you took his ticket, “Nice to have you back.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” He replied flatly, taking back his ticket and tucking it in his jacket pocket.

“You could’ve come for free, after all the work you put in,” You offered, “You didn’t–”

“I wanted to,” He was evasive, seemingly wanting to avoid discussion of your former meeting, “There’s not many places like this left and I’d rather spend what I have on supporting it than some gadget marketed to break.”

“Well…thank you, for the help and for coming,” You offered a sheepish smile, “Now, I think I should get started before the crowd gets restless.”

You awkwardly turned away and headed for the front of the crowd, tucking away your stamp in the small satchel you carried on your tours. You raised your hands for silence and the voices slowly died. “Alright, let’s get started. We’ll be beginning at the turn of the century; New Years Eve, 1899; the cusp of the modern world…”

* * *

“And now we come to the end of the century. Look back and think of 1899. At the similarities and disparities between this year and one hundred years before. How all has changed and yet stayed the same. People retained that same optimism for the new century; this century. Are we not in the midst of what will be history in the next?

One day, another group will look at pictures of us, at our everyday possessions as if they are artifacts, and they’ll feel that same connection. That inherent relation we have to the past; to people we’ll never know but we feel are kindred to ourselves, for they are humans, living in a time they have no hold over, and trying to navigate it. In the footsteps of their ancestors and ahead of their descendants. Following but leading all at once.”

With the applause of the group, you waited for the usual questions. A line formed around you as you fielded inquiries about resources, comments on special items, and the usual history fanatics who wanted to discuss more in depth. The best part of your job was planting the seed of intrigue in novices or sparking the flame which already existed in the learned.

Finally, the floor began to clear out, many taking the invitation to explore other exhibits or other wings. Holly hated it but you always encouraged tourists to see as much as they could throughout their stay. Many learned better on their own, or simply enjoyed the reserved hush which came over the museum after a showing.

“I liked it,” James nearly caused you to jump as he appeared before the help desk, “The whole tour, but all that work you put into the interwar…it was very realistic. You didn’t glorify the poverty of the depression or ignore the social issues clouded by the jazz age.”

“Hmm,” You raised a brow amused, “You know more than you let on, don’t you?”

“Not really,” He shrugged and took out the brochure that he had folded into his pocket the week before. He opened it and revealed scrawled notes along the margins, words underline in pencil, and pictures circled. “I’ve been doing some reading…mostly.”

“Mostly?” You wondered at the cryptic footnote; he quickly hid away the pamphlet before you could read much. The added captions were written from a personal rather than academic voice.

“I liked what you said at the end,” He changed the subject smoothly, a sly evasion, “About the past and the future. It’s…true. We romanticize the past because our present is so drab. We turn the average man into a hero and daily happenings into novelties.”

He leaned on the desk, his fingers tapping on the edge, “I think of the men who fought in the war, they were like anyone else, like us. Afraid, imperiled, and manic. They fight for a word they don’t know the meaning of. It’s hard to know what duty is when no one will say it aloud; it’s just four letters we keep repeating to make sense of the chaos.”

His blue eyes stared past you as if he was somewhere else; as if he was seeing battle rather than the curator standing before him. You tried not to squirm as you waited for his trance to end and he jolted himself back to reality. You couldn’t figure out what was going in his mind, what caused his gloved hand to hold onto the desk so steadily or the muscles along his jaw to contract.

“S-Sorry, I…” He was embarrassed; he stood straight and forced his hands into his pocket. He curled his shoulders in a meek manner and tried to stutter out an explanation.

“No need to be sorry,” You tried to save him from his struggle, “Look, I wasn’t sure if you were ever going to come back, to be honest, and I was going to ask you if you wanted to go for lunch with me? To show my thanks for all your help.”

“Lunch?” He looked all the more startled as he considered your invitation, “I–I guess…”

“Don’t sound so ecstatic,” You sneered jokingly, “My treat, I insist.”

“You don’t have to–”

“You didn’t have to help me but you did and you didn’t have to come today,” You shrugged him off, “My intern gets here in half an hour,” You checked your watch as you spoke, “Can you wait that long?”

“Sure,” He nodded, looking to his shoes as he turned slightly, “You know where I’ll be.” He adjusted the cap on his head and made for the WWII exhibit, taking up his vigil before the battlefield map. You really did need to request a revised edition before he found another error.


	5. Chapter 5

Jenn arrived early as she always did and you went over her responsibilities one last time. It was the first she would be left all on her own and while she was ecstatic; you were overwrought. You trusted her but you were overly particular about your work and perfectly aware of how demanding you were a boss. She smiled and clung to the list you had given her as you set off to fetch your lunch guest and depart before you changed your mind.

James was staring at a picture of a battlefield, the trenches filled with corpses and shrapnel. His brow was knit and his forehead creased. As you came up beside him, you sensed his distress and were wary of breaking his trance. So fixated were his blue eyes that they shone like an icy film atop the deep blue sea.

“James,” You said softly as he began to lean closer and he snapped back, slowly turning to you in a daze, “Are you ready?”

“Uh…yeah,” He rubbed the back of his neck, his cheeks showing a faint pink as he returned to the present, “I’m starving actually, heh.”

In his efforts to hide his peculiar reverie, he had tried to induce levity and for a moment it gave you hope that this lunch would not be as awkward as every encounter with the man. You nodded and adjusted your purse on your shoulder, stepping back as you motioned him to the door. He walked beside you, his posture staunch and unbending; almost marching to the exit.

The diner was just down the street and you were grateful for the short journey. James said little as you walked along, keeping his head low and his hands in his pocket. From time to time, his eyes darted one way or the other, but he quickly shied away from your gaze. You guessed it was some innate antisocial tendency or a distrust of crowds. Even so, the city was in its mid-afternoon lull and not many passed you on the sidewalk.

You pushed inside the small diner, a rustic scene from the past hidden on the corner. It’s 1940s motif seemed to transport you away from the discord of the 21st century and the crackle of authentic records engrossed you. It was your favourite place in the city and was conveniently close to the museum.

“I usually just come here for a quick coffee, but you’ve given me an excuse to try the food,” You said as you led him to a table; you were surprised when he pulled out a chair for you and waited for your to sit before taking his own. Oddly courteous considering his usual demeanour.

“It’s nice,” He looked around, his eyes consuming every inch, his mouth falling open as if in shock, “Realistic…”

He forced his mouth closed and cleared his throat, removing his cap and setting it aside. It was the first you had seen the top of his head and you were almost surprised to find that it was as normal as any. He kept his gloves on and lifted the menu, looking it over pensively. He bit his lip as he read and nearly jumped as the waitress asked what you’d like to drink.

You asked for a black coffee and he requested the same, once more looking around him as if he was being watched. You smiled at him and decided on the chicken sandwich, setting aside your own menu. When the waitress returned, you ordered and James followed suit; beans and frankfurters.

As your server retreated to the kitchen, you looked over at James and smiled, trying to bear through the growing tension. Maybe this was a mistake; you should’ve known considering how aloof he had been since the day you first saw him. Now he sat before you, staring at his gloved hands and struggling with some unsaid turmoil.

“So…” He looked up, gripping his coffee mug with his left hand, “You like history? I mean, of course you do…I mean, why? What got you so interested?”

“Um,” You were relieved that he was the one to start, “Well, I don’t really know if it was one thing. I always kinda liked learning about the past and I always did well at school and just fell into it.”

He nodded and you felt compelled to give a less vague explanation, “It’s like I said today, I feel this connection to the past. I read about people who lived before, of their experiences, and I relate to them. Maybe I don’t know the same struggles, but I know how the world around us can force us to do things we never thought we would…or could. Whether we want to or not, whether our names are recorded, we are carried along by the tides of history.”

“Hmm,” He drank from his cup and set it down carefully, “I think I know what you mean. Time is more powerful than anything. It goes on even when we cannot.”

“And you? You must have some interest in history, what drew you to it?” You countered and he blanched, nearly knocking over his mug.

“Well, I…guess I’m just looking for answers,” He said quietly, “I just don’t know which ones.”

Before you could try to decipher his response, the waitress returned and set your plates before you. You watched James as he set in like a vulture on his food and tucked into your own, trying to solve the riddle sitting across from you. There was something about him, something so disjointed from the present. It was as if he was lost.

“Did you have any suggestions?” You asked out of nowhere, as if a conversation had actually been carrying on, “For the war section? I mean, you probably know it better than me and I’ve been meaning to amend a few discrepancies.”

“No,” He shook his head as he swallowed, pushing back his hair as he talked, “I think it’s pretty good. Realistic, at least. You don’t shy away from the grit of war. Most recite this mythos of glory, act like it was some holy war against evil. There was evil but it was just the beginning…War never ends. Not truly.”

It was a compliment to any historian to be commended for realism, but he sounded as if he were commenting on the conflict itself. Of the history which spiraled forth from its crux and had to this affected every aspect of democracy and competition. A blunt criticism of the world as it was and that which had led to the present circumstance.

His cryptic silences and wistful blue eyes held behind them a cynical insight; he saw the world as it was, not as it was supposed to be. You mumbled your accord and turned your attention back to your food, unsure of how to reply. As you chewed he traced his fork through the sauce on his plate and relented, finally looking you in the face.

“Thank you, for lunch…and listening,” He speared a piece of sausage, and held it over his plate, “It’s been a long time since anyone cared about what I have to say.”


	6. Chapter 6

It was a rainy morning. You carefully avoided puddles as you walked your usual route to work. The grey sky was blotched with ashen clouds; an abstract painting in monochrome. You could feel a migraine brewing already and dreaded the full day of work before you; several more tours and a list of chores from the chronically absent Holly. If you could hold your head up long enough, you may actually survive.

As you neared the steps of the museum, passing the statue of Athena, rain drops running down her nose like tears, you nearly tripped on the stone. A dark figure stood beneath the canopy outside the door, his head low under his cap and a tray of coffee in his hand. James was always early for his daily visits, but rarely did he precede you.

“Hey,” You climbed the steps, your voice drawing him from his thoughts with a wince, “Good morning.”

“Morning,” His eyes were as gloomy as the weather, “Coffee?”

He held a paper cup out to you, an urgency to the gesture as if he was anxious you would turn him away. You stared at the plastic lid a moment, wondering at the unexpected kindness. Even if the meeting was peculiar and his generosity even more so, you welcomed an extra does of caffeine.

“Thanks,” You took it with a smile but he remained as stony as the statue beside you. His eyes told more than his face ever could; a well-honed discipline smothering any emotion, “You don’t have to wait out here,” You offered as you unlocked the doors; it was your day to open, “No point in it. Not in this weather.”

As you held the door for him, you thought of the day before. The awkward lunch which had turned surprisingly familial. He was ever grim in his demeanour but he had said more to you during that lunch than he had in the time since he had first appeared before the war display.

He took his sodden cap off as he entered,his dark hair pulled back and damp at the ends. He chewed on the paper brim of his cup. You took the cardboard tray from him and tossed it in the bin. He peered around the lobby, his eyes consuming every beam and every nook.

“You know,” He shoved his right hand in his pocket and sighed, “I’ve never really looked around this place. I always end up staring at guns and atrocities, passing by the beauty right in front of me…”

“I could show you around,” You offered as you disabled the security system, “I’m not as well-versed in the science wing but the art one I could manage.”

“Do you have time?” He asked, “I’d hate to impose.”

“I have a lot of time,” You assured, the shadow of your headache relenting; the coffee and distraction helping, “Sometimes I feel quite the opposite in here. Seeing the centuries laid out in front of you, it makes you realize how quickly it goes.”

“Yes, one day it’s all just a blur, years spent living in a haze,” He mulled before gulping from his coffee. His eyes were far away again, shrouded in grief; mourning for something which seemed to elude even him.

“I see the weather’s really perked you up,” You kidded as you opened the doors to the art gallery, “And I’m sure Renaissance scenes of crucifixion and biblical massacres will add to that.”

“Paintings are just that; paint,” He shrugged, snapping back to the present, “Memories are more difficult. They’re not so easily culled from your vision.”

“Alright, alright,” You nodded and sipped from your coffee, “A bit of a rough start to this tour but I’ve had worse crowds.”

“Hmmp,” It was half a chuckle, the lines of his face lessened and the tension left his shoulders, “Get on with it.”

You had left James in the science wing. He was easily enraptured in the blurbs next to the displays, a childlike curiosity colouring his features. When he stood in the history gallery, he looked much different. His stare was a mile-long and he became trapped in a sort of reverie. An impenetrable concentration, a wrinkle set in his brow as if trying to solve a labyrinth with no end.

Time spent with the man didn’t make him any less enigmatic. He was a riddle with no answer.

You turned to your work, tearing your mind from him. His issues seemed deep enough that you dared not wade too far into them. Besides, Holly had sent another e-mail and your anger was more potent than your empathy. She rarely stepped foot into the museum, wore the title of curator as some crown, and could not be bothered to read your updates. It was evident every time you opened a message; mere reiterations of all that you had previously informed her of.

You kept an eye on the time as you began your weekly report. You could as easily have copy and pasted your last and been done with it, but you were actually committed to your work. You were due soon for your first tour of the day, or rather second if you counted James’ early arrival. The very thought of the man must have summoned him for he appeared at the help desk as you approached the other side.

“Hey, uh, I, uh…” He rubbed his neck as he stuttered, clearing his throat as he finally found his usual composure, “Uh, that album you showed me before, is there any way I could have another look?”

“Of course,” You replied brightly, “I figured you hadn’t finished with it–I mean, I’ll just go get that.”

You scurried into your office and retrieved the album. You had not yet returned it to its box, thinking that on the odd chance James may actually have made the very request to see it once more. You set it before him and smiled; every time you did so, he made you feel a fool. Not a twitch marred his face and he stared vacantly as you fidgeted before him.

“Alright then, I have a tour,” You looked at your wrist only to remember that you hadn’t worn a watch in years, “I’ll leave you to it.”

You were tempted to run away.  _What was that? Why were you so weird?_ Surely, you had just voided all the progress you had made with the man. You wouldn’t be surprised if you came back to find that he had fled once more. You wouldn’t blame him either.

Never had you been so overwhelmed at the thought of speaking to a person, but for some reason James made you uncertain; of yourself, of him.  And the show you had just made of yourself didn’t help. There was so much you didn’t know about him and yet you saw him near every day.  _What was it that had him hiding in plain sight?_

You hid behind a plinth and cringed into your hands. You needed to clear your mind before standing in front of a crowd and trying to recite history. You didn’t need to be choking on your own tongue with an even bigger audience.


	7. Chapter 7

“Hey, look what just came,” You entered your office with the laminated poster, “About time.”

James sat in your office, cradling a box of correspondence atop his knees, a letter unfolded in his hand. It was a collection you had been patiently waiting to turn into an exhibit; _Battelfied_   _Letters: The Homesick Soldier._  He looked up at you, an eyebrow raised curiously as the paper in his gloved hand was held aloft.

“The map!” You announced as you began to unroll it, “I suppose you should look it over for mistakes before I put it up.”

He squinted and slowly folded up the letter he had been reading, setting aside the box with care. As your only daily visitor at the museum, you figured it would hurt to get some use out of the stony-faced man while fostering his own interest in history. More often than not, you ate lunch together and he’d remain until after hours, so lost in his study that the time seemed to past too quickly for him.

He rose and crossed to you as you revealed the new map. He stood at your shoulder, so near you could feel his warmth radiating along your back. He leaned closer as he read the labels, reaching out with his left hand to point out Azzano, his eyes scanning it intently.

“Mmm-hmm,” He lowered his arm, pausing in mid-air, “Wait, I think there’s another just over–” He was about to point to Bastogne but waved it away with a snicker, “I’m joshing you,” He rescinded his arm and you looked to him, realizing he had been watching you the whole time, “You’re a kick when you’re frustrated.”

“Wh–” You huffed and let the map curl back up, frowning at him. Even though he sounded rather amused, he still wasn’t smiling. There was a flicker of humour but not enough to break through, “I think you’ve been spending too much time here.”

“Maybe, but you didn’t seem to mind so much before,” He teased, “You want help with that or should I go?”

You looked to the map and thought; it would be easier with someone a bit taller. You shrugged, “Sure, you can help,” You were trying to sound nonchalant but really you came across as childish, “Come on.”

You turned and kept the map before you, heading for the old one in the gallery. The World War Two section seemed empty without James standing among the displays. As he stopped just steps behind you, you set aside the new poster and tried to reach the top of the plastic case where the map slid in and out. Barely tall enough, you caught the corner but only shifted the paper.

“Here,” James curtailed your struggled, stepping up beside you to catch the edge of the map and pulling it smoothly from the display. He handed it to you and took the other, unrolling it and slipping it in without difficulty. “Ta da!”

“Thanks,” You grumbled.

In the last weeks, he had shown more of a personality, though he could be a bit of a smart ass. You even wondered what had compelled you to pester the aloof man, especially at times like this. You shook your head as he boasted, pretending to dust off his shoulders. “Why don’t you get back to your letters before I find something else for you to do, like cleaning.”

“Well, I was going to say something about the lack of maintenance around here,” He chided playfully, “But I’ll opt for the former.”

He raised his hands at your unamused stare and passed by you, once more chuckling as he did. You turned and watched him re-enter your office. You were starting to think he was getting too comfortable around here. But maybe, you were growing a bit too accustomed to his presence.

* * *

It had been a late night. Or rather an early morning. Your phone had woken you up and your mother’s voice had met your ear in shrill alarm. At her behest, you had torn yourself from your bed and turned on your laptop, pulling up the latest news. There had been an attack in Vienna and the chaos had taken over nearly every headline. Even the latest celebrity gossip was muted by its severity.

You rubbed your eyes as you watched videos of the attack, too groggy to register more than the explosion and cloud of dust and debris. You shut your laptop and crawled back to bed, telling your mom to do the same. These attacks were by no means insignificant, but your mother would wake you because the weather forecast was wrong. As it was, all you could do was mourn.

You didn’t sleep after that. Instead you tossed and turned, wavering between wide awake and unbearably drowsy. You cancelled your alarm before it could erupt with a blaring whine and shuffled to your small kitchen, watching your coffee percolate with impatience.

It would be another one of those days; when all people would talk about was the latest tragedy. Scapegoating those they mistrusted and riling up paranoia and stereotypes. A day of grief shadowed in sinister agendas formulated to fuel division. It was a greater crime to think that disaster should be twisted into propaganda.

You dressed in the half-dark of the early morning; wool trousers, cotton blouse, flat-soled Oxfords, and a floral cardigan. It was hard to work in a museum and not dress the part. You looked more an elder than your own grandmother.

History aged people before their time, for the more you knew the more questions needed answering, and the endless quest for knowledge drew you to its darkest depths. Perhaps that was why James stared at the battlefields, read the letters and sunk into a trance, swept away in the heartache of time. A valiant war now tarnished by the corruption of the present; the light of today shedding the mask of yesterday.

Maybe he was getting to you. You spent rather too much time trying to unravel the man and his cryptic eyes. Too much time trying to reconcile his morose mien with those rare moments of buoyancy.  _How was it that your thoughts always came back to him?_

The sky was dappled with clouds but no rain had fallen. The weather reflected your frame of of mind perfectly. You were running early though your lack of sleep was already making itself felt. You stopped at the small cafe which marked the first corner on your path to work. It was near empty at this hour and you ordered quickly; two black coffees.

You continued your walk to work, the activity calming you. Even though Vienna was far away, you couldn’t help the shadow of anxiety looming over you. You couldn’t explain it, but it felt as if something was off. Some intangible force had shifted and all around you stood in ghastly repose.

When you crested the steps of the museum and found James absent, your misgivings were stoked. Since that rainy day, he had always been early, waiting for you. A constant presence in your repetitive days. You frowned as you neared the doors, sighing at the extra coffee in your tray.

You pulled out your keys but as you unlocked the door, a square of white caught your eye. Your name was written across the folded paper in slanted scrawl, the note jutting out from between the door and its hinges. You took it and turned it in your hand; a foreboding omen set in ink.

Of all days, why did James have to choose this one?  _Was his timing poor or telling?_  You suspected you held the answer in your hand, but you weren’t sure you wanted to know.


	8. Chapter 8

You sat at your desk, your computer screen flashing with news reports as you stared at the folded letter. It just laid there in front of your keyboard; taunting, ominous, intimidating. You had still not found the courage to open it and the story playing out on your browser did little to encourage you.

Footage of the Vienna attack replayed on a reel, fear-mongering newscasters narrating, and a familiar face staring back at you. A sketch of James reappeared between commentary, the sight making you sick. They said it was him who set the bomb and killed the King of Wakanda,  _but how could it be?_

He had been with you until just after dinner time. There was no possible way he could have travelled to Vienna to perpetrate such an atrocity. There was no plane on earth fast enough to have taken him. Yet, they said it was him,  _and why?_  You suspected it was the secret he had hidden from you for the last months.

 _The Asset. Winter Soldier. Bucky Barnes._  His real name  _was_  James but he had taken on so many pseudonyms you couldn’t help but feel you were looking at a stranger’s face. And yet, it all came together. The man who had been staring at battlefields was searching for memories. The man who spoke of war as a curse had been used as a weapon. He was a soldier without allies; a veteran without peace; a man without a cause.

You tapped your fingers on the desk, glancing at the forgotten cups of coffee. You took one and opened its plastic lip, sipping from it as your eye returned to the letter. If you read it, it meant all this was the truth; that it was over. James was gone and this was his good-bye. You didn’t want him to go away.

You set aside your cup and paused the reports still droning on your computer, turning off the screen with a sigh. You rubbed your palms together, smoothed your hair, chewed your nails, licked your dry lips, stretched your legs, cracked your knuckles. You fidgeted until you were ready to scream, stilling yourself with a muttered curse.

You could wait no longer. Your anxiety had turned to impatience and you needed to read the letter. You needed to know what James had written. Excuses, apologies, farewell. Whatever it was, it was for you. You picked up the paper and slowly unfolded it, the writing narrow and slanted but legible. You forced your eyes to focus and began:

_Dear Y/N,_

_I am writing this letter because I know that one day I will have to leave. I am writing to you because you’re the only one who will care. The only one to know that I am gone. And I hope you will miss me, even if all I ever did was mope and stare at the wall._

_There are things you don’t know. About the world. About me. But you will see other things; in the newspaper, on television. About the things I’ve done and haven’t done. That I don’t remember. That compelled me to stand in your museum and try to remember. Not my sins but those deeds I committed when I was still a man._

_But I remembered those days when I met a scrawny boy named Steve. He was, or rather is, the bravest person I ever met. The day we met, I thought I was protecting him but truly, it was the other way around. He taught me integrity, determination, and perseverance. He showed me who I was and saved me from becoming like those who bullied him. But then I did._

_I was a veteran before I was an assassin. A murderer. Staring at the battlefields, reading the dates, seeing Steve in that album. The past came flooding back all once. What before were confusing snippets of a lost history came clearer. But then came after. All that had happened when I was no longer myself._

_At least, I tell myself it was not truly me._

_I have you to thank for these memories. You brought me back to the before. You helped me relearn those things which Steve had given me. You talked to me even though I was a shadow. You smiled at me even though I could not. You listened to me when I spoke. To you I owe my life; what I have left of it anyways._

_I am James Buchanan Barnes. Steve called me Bucky, but they will call me the Winter Soldier. They will call me what I was; a machine, a killer, a monster. You are the only one who will see me as I am._

_All I wish is that you remember me when I am gone. Not as The Winter Soldier or whatever heartless killer they manufacture on the news. Remember me for who I was when we were together. Just a man, nothing more. No one remembers that man, even me._

_Thank you for everything. I hope I have not hurt you terribly. I wish for nothing but happiness. Of all the people I’ve ever known, you deserve it._

_Your friend,_

_James_

It was truly goodbye. You re-read the letter and set it on the desk. You cupped your chin in your hand, leaning your elbow against your desk. You wished you had reached out more. That you had had the chance to know him better. To hear his story from his lips and not the scripts regurgitated on the news. You wished he hadn’t had to go, but he did.

Your ears perked up as you thought and you stood, nearly toppling your coffee. You crossed the boxes of props and papers, digging through a pile until you found the leather album. It was the very same one James had flipped through time and again. You hurriedly thumbed through the pages until you found what you were looking for.

The same page James had left open when he had fled from the museum weeks ago. The picture of Captain America stood central to the page, its sepia tones unfazed by the passage of time. Other U.S. soldiers stood alongside their hero and the soldier who had the good fortune to have the moment memorialized on film. One in particular was familiar.

Just beside the Captain, half turned away and caught in conversation was James. He stood unaware of the camera, speaking with his fellow soldiers. Smiling. Maybe that was why you didn’t recognize him or maybe you just hadn’t looked close enough. But it  _was_  him.

You slid the photo from its slot and crossed back to your desk, folding up the letter around the picture. You tucked the papers away in your pocket, a keepsake of your brief friendship. You had wasted enough time; you still had a whole day of work before you and for once, James wasn’t there to get in your way.

 


	9. Chapter 9

You didn’t sleep much that night. It was hard to accept that James was gone. Harder to figure out why it was having such an effect on you. You had know him for what, two months? Maybe a little longer. Perhaps it was that he had departed into the unknown; that you would never truly know his fate.

The news dramatized his flight. An international criminal on the run after perpetrating an attack on a peacekeeping conference. If he was caught, surely they would justify whatever punishment he received and if not?  _Would you know? Would they merely declare him dead to ease public fears?_

You knew he was innocent; maybe only of that one crime,  _but had he not been trying to change?_   _Was that not why he had been standing in your museum trying to remember his sins?_  You had not realized it at the time, but he had. He had grown from a ghost re-reading the same words over and over to a man. One who had shown you kindness in his own way. 

You needed to stop thinking about it.

It was the same as the morning before. You woke in the dark, showered, dried your hair. Blindly you went through the motions, trying not to think of James. You didn’t turn on your television, instead scrolling through an app on your phone. You couldn’t bear to watch another new report. You hadn’t been able to stop the day before as you tried to piece together James’ farewell, but now it was too painful.

You grabbed your bag and headed out the door. Your life might be in pieces but the museum still needed an assistant curator. Your dragged your feet along the pavement, stopping outside the cafe where you had gotten coffee the day before. Maybe if you hadn’t done so, you would have caught James. Or maybe he still would have been gone. He had likely left that letter in the middle of the night.

You forced yourself to continue on. You turned the last corner and looked to the steps of the museum. Just on the other side of the Athena statue, a figure stood, waiting. He was shorter than James, his face mousy and set in permanent expression of irritation. He wore a dark suit, primped to a tee, his shoes polished to shine. This was not good.

You looked around, a black SUV on the other side of the street and you knew he must be some government official. Even a common citizen could have picked up on such an obvious trope. You sighed and adjusted your bag, nearing as your heart thumped with dread.

“Hello,” You approached him warily, “Can I help you?”

“Are you the curator of this place?” He asked pointedly.

“Um, not exactly,” You answered, “We have three; one for each gallery. I’m the assistant curator of the history wing.”

“Mmm,” He took a folder from beneath his arm and opened it up. He held it so you could not peek at the contents and read quickly before snapping it shut, “We’re looking for a Y/N. We have some questions.”

“Questions?” You repeated nervously, stilling your hand before you could start to fidget, “Well, I’m Y/N and I’ll answer your questions but I really don’t know what all this is about. Who are you?”

“My name is Everett K. Ross, I work with the Central Intelligence Agency,” He stated, not so subtly glancing at the SUV across the street, “I’m more than willing to explain the nature of this interview…inside. You can understand that I prioritize privacy in such matters.”

“Ugh, sure, let me just unlock the doors,” You passed him, taking out your key and opening the doors, “Do you know how long this will take?”

“An hour at the least, a day at the most,” He replied without emotion, “It all depends on your answers.”

“Mmm,” You chewed your lip as you flipped on the lights, “Before we start, would I be able to call my intern? I’m the only one scheduled today and I wouldn’t be able to speak for more than twenty minutes without someone to cover me.”

“Fine,” He allowed, “You have five minutes.”

“Five minutes?” You were growing tired of his brusque tone, “Well I could call if off altogether. I see no obligation to sit and talk. Especially without representation, which you’ve not offered me at all.”

“Feel free to call your attorney as well,” He shrugged

You kept from rolling your eyes and led him to the history wing, showing him into your office before retreating to the gallery. You called Jenn, her voice thick with sleep and begged her to come in. She agreed to be there within the hour and you put a sign on the information desk advising an early visitors of her imminent arrival. Today she would be paid. A rare treat for an intern. 

You returned to your office, sitting in your chair across from the agent. He was patiently waiting, expressionless and tepid. He was the whitest slice of bread you had ever seen.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to get straight to the point,” He said, “Do you know or know of a James Buchanan Barnes, better known as Bucky, or alternatively, the Winter Soldier?”

“I’ve heard his name on the news,” You answered blithely, “As has everyone else in the world at this point.”

“Certainly they have but I’ve no reports of them colluding with said fugitive in this very museum,” He remarked smugly, “Word travels fast these days, Ms. Y/N. I know he was here leading up to the attack in Vienna and I know he had taken a peculiar interest in you.

“I thought at first you were some sleeper agent but I’ve looked extensively into your past and beyond a few Facebook pictures of you a little to the wayside at some bachelorette, you’re really not all that interesting.”

“Gee, I’m flattered,” You commented dryly, “I wasn’t lying though. I didn’t know this Bucky or Winter Soldier. I knew a man named James, only James. That’s what he called himself and he never gave me reason to be suspect. Call it naievity or ignorance; call it collusion or accessory. Aiding and abetting even, but it was all unknowing.”

“You didn’t wonder at the man with the metal arm standing in your museum? Rather, you took him to lunch and welcomed him into your life?”

“I saw a stranger and I was kind. I didn’t know about the arm, he wore long sleeves and gloves. If he’s so clever as the news would have him, he’d surely keep himself disguised, don’t you think?”

“You didn’t know?” He scoffed, smirking for the first time, “You never saw him…free of his disguise?”

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating,” You bristled.

“A man and woman spending so much time together…and he was known in his younger years as quite the schmoozer,” He gestured as if the conclusion should be obvious.

“I admit, I was friends with him because I didn’t know what he was,” You ignored his suggestion, “That’s  _my_ mistake. I should’ve been more cautious, but it’s been a useful lesson; I shouldn’t go about socializing with strange men.” You sat up and powered up your computer, “And I think I’ve told you all I can on the matter, I really have no other useful information about the man, so I would ask that you leave.”

You looked to him staunchly, annoyed by his presence, “This interview is over. If you would like to return with a warrant and verify your authority in my museum, we can continue.”

You sat back and watched, his face neutralizing to its former state of apathy. He slowly stood, his cheek twitching as he did. 

“Very well,” He accepted in a sinister tone, “Thank you for your time, Ms. Y/N.” With that, he walked mechanically out of your office and you stared at your door in dismay; _what had you gotten yourself into?_

 


	10. Chapter 10

After your morning interrogation, your day only seemed to get worse. Jenn arrived to cover you as you tried to untangle the knots forming in your stomach. Everything felt off. Of course, you had never expected to have to speak with a CIA agent and to be pressed so closely; as if you were guilty. But what more had you done than befriend a stranger.

You ignored your e-mails, too distracted by your impending doom. You were certain you’d be arrested or at least detained. Perhaps you should have been more co-operative. This wasn’t the time to be making enemies. You had really gotten yourself involved in a snare way beyond your expertise.

As the afternoon waned and you prepared to close up, you had managed to push your worries to the back of your mind. The mindless routine of announcing the end of the day to patrons and tidying up any messes left behind settled you. It returned to you a sense of normalcy and with Jenn’s help, it didn’t take so long as usual.

You packed up your bag and headed for the doors, locking up as you bid farewell to your intern. You were exhausted having failed to sleep the past two nights. All you wanted was to go home and get in bed. Even if it meant nightmares and overwhelmingly realistic terrors, you needed to close your eyes.

The walk home was calming but when you came in sight of your front door, you knew your night would be anything but relaxing. Agent Ross stood outside your home, arms crossed as he waited for your arrival.  _You had known it was far from over but could he not have waited another day?_

“Miss Y/N,” He greeted as he turned to see you.

“Agent,” You replied flatly, adjusting your bag awkwardly, “Should I even ask why you’re here?”

“Well, I’ve got a warrant this time so you don’t need to worry about that,” He pulled forth a folded piece of paper, shaking it open and holding it out to you, “We’ve the authority to search your home.

“And you waited for me to begin? I’m almost flattered,” You read through the warrant; even if you had been a lawyer, you couldn’t argue it, “Go on then.” You folded it back up and shoved it towards him, “Get to it. I haven’t got all night and I can imagine how excited you are to look through books on Napoleon’s horse and Caesar’s premature balding.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, his hand rising and falling before him as he thought better of whatever he had intended to say. He gave a huff and folded one arm over his chest awkwardly, pointing at you weakly with his other hand, 

“You know, you could make this easier without the attitude. We’re just doing our jobs,” He paused, trying to give an intimidating scowl but it was more a dour grimace, “If you’ve not anything to hide, then you shouldn’t be so reluctant.”

“Forgive me, but while I may not have any secrets on the same tier as yours, I do value my privacy,” You retorted, “And to be quite honest, I’m fucking tired. Of you, most of all, so if you’d tell your men to make it quick, I should forever be in your debt.”

The agent shook his head, turning his back to you as he waved his men towards your door, Saving them the expense and inconvenience of kicking down your door, you unlocked it and welcomed them in with a venomous smile. You sat outside on the curb, waiting for them to find nothing.

“Your bag, Miss Y/N,” Ross appeared at your shoulder; you looked over at him with disbelief.

“My bag?” He nodded and you pulled the strap over your head, tossing it at his feat angrily, “Have fun.”

You set your chin in your hands and looked back to the street; your neighbours were not so inconspicuously watching from their windows. You were certain you’d be the subject of their gossip for weeks to come. You listened to Ross stir around in your bag and subtly touched the chest of your jacket; James’ letter and photo rested there. You were thankful you had kept them on you.

The agent dropped your bag at your side before walking back to the house and you listened to the rabble from within. It sounded as if they were doing their best to destroy your possessions rather than search them. You were nearly dozing on the street by the time they finished and Ross announced your dismissal as if it were a favour.

You stood and hitched your bag up on your shoulder, “I hope you found what you were looking for.”

“We found enough,” He lied and you could tell he was trying to fan a fear within you which did not exist, “I’ll be seeing you again.”

You walked past him for your front door, left ajar in the midst of the agents’ intrusion. You listened to the vehicles start and closed your door, locking it with a muttered curse. Every book on your shelves had been tossed to the floor; pages bent, spines broken, and some without covers. Your kitchen was a jumble of dishes, the cupboards hanging open, and your bed had been flipped from its frame.

You just wanted to sleep.

You sighed and set your bag on the table in the hallway, kicking through the mess they had left along the floors. You would have to deal with it tomorrow, you hadn’t the energy left for it that night. You kicked your shoes off and returned to your bedroom, dragging the mattress back to its frame and taking a pillow and blanket from the pile.

You sat on the edge of the bed, reaching into the pocket of your jacket and taking out the paper within. You opened James’ letter and read it once more before staring at the photo of his former life.  _Why couldn’t he have warned you?_

It felt as if he had led the wolves to your door and now you were left to fend for yourself. Sure, he was used to fighting; running, but you were just a curator; a weak historian; a measly academi. These were dangers far beyond your scope and he had left you to withstand the storm without a hood. You didn’t know so much that you missed him, rather you were starting to regret ever meeting him.

* * *

 _Was it a surprise?_ Not really, only a grim reminder. When you walked up to the museum, you spotted the dark SUVs on the other side of the road and before you reached the history gallery, you knew you had visitors. But what was unexpected was Holly; the ever elusive curator speaking with Agent K. Ross before the information desk.

You could feel the weight grow heavier in your stomach; your nerves and muscles twisting together in agony. You were starting to feel your stress and the lack of sleep was not helping.  _How were you suppose to sleep long when your house had been ransacked and your life was slowly splitting at the seams?_

And you couldn’t tell yourself it wasn’t your fault, because it was. Sure, you blamed James when you met the end of your wits but you truly knew it wasn’t his doing. It was only a consequence of knowing him.

You neared the pair; both of them irritating in their own way. While Holly was never around, you couldn’t get rid of the pesky CIA agent. You greeted them with a forced smile and they stared back in shared discontent. You knew it was bad if Holly was there.

“Agent Ross is here to search the museum,” She announced in a dangerous tune, “Which means we must close the gallery for the day.”

“Oh,” You looked between them darkly, “Great.”

“Yes, great,” She echoed harshly, pausing to look to the agent, “Mr. Ross you can begin. I just need to speak with my assistant for a moment.”

“Do what you must,” Ross nodded, “We can find our own way.”

“Y/N,” She gestured for you to follow with two fingers, leading you to her office. She ushered you in and closed the door with a sharp snap, pointing to the chair across from hers. When she sat, she tutted and you were ready to leave. It wasn’t worth it. “Well, I see you’ve made a fine mess in my absence.”

You remained silent, knowing you were to tense to censor yourself once you had begun.

“A curator needn’t be worrying about her museum undergoing an international investigation for harbouring a fugitive. I suppose I don’t need to explain that. You’re smart enough to at least see how much trouble you’ve caused.”

You gripped the arm of the chair as Holly spoke, staring at her with restrained rage. To have her lecturing you on your management of the museum; the museum she had left behind, not bothering to care what is hung upon its walls, let alone what goes on within them. You sighed, chewing on your nail as you tried not to speak.

“Well,” She looked at you as if you were stupid, “You do understand this is a fireable offense, right?”

“Yes,” You said sharply, sitting up straight, “Yes I know it is and I don’t care. Go on and fire me,” You were nearly laughing; from disbelief; from exhaustion; “I don’t really care. Why would I want to continue to clean up after you, Holly? You run around from conference to conference and leave me to do all your work and mine.

“When’s the last time you planned an exhibit? Led a tour? Reviewed an intern? Hell, when have you last opened an e-mail? I could work the same position with less trouble anywhere else, but I think I’d rather just be a recognized curator rather than your little workhand.”

“Y/N,” She looked as shocked as you felt. You had not intended to say all that but it had come so naturally, “You’re coming dangerously close–”

“I know,” You shrugged, “So just do it. You’re right, I should be fired. I’ve brought the CIA down on us and I’d rather not clean up another mess they leave.”

“Go,” She was livid, her cat-like eyes flashing at you, “Pack your things and go. You’re done here.”

“Alright,” You stood, smiling at her as you heard the agents working in the gallery. It hurt to know they were handling the exhibits roughly but you had done all you could for the place, “Goodbye, Holly.”


	11. Chapter 11

_THREE MONTHS LATER_

It’s always difficult changing one’s routine. After so long at the museum, it felt as if you were starting over again. At first you had thought it a tragedy; on par with those of the Ancient Greeks and Shakespeare’s unending repertoire of doom. And then you had come to accept it; embrace it even. 

_Had you even been happy working in the stuffy museum?_

Until James had mysteriously appeared and aroused your suspicion of some mythical history thief, there had been little excitement. Without him it would have felt wrong to stay. At least telling yourself that didn’t make your departure feel like a ridiculous mistake.

You had quickly cleaned up after the CIA and begun the tedious process of having your possessions stored and moving back home. Your mother didn’t mind the company so much and you couldn’t stand being hounded by agents. You still spied the occasional eye watching you, knowing well you would not so easily lose your tail, but now you didn’t have to reminded of all you had lost.

You pondered applying at another museum but you had enough saved to take some time to figure it all out. In the meantime, you sold articles to scholarly journals and even managed to give a few talks at those conferences Holly spent so much of her time at. You were fortunate enough not to have run into her yet, but you assumed it may be due to her lack of an assistant.

It felt like you were taking a breather. Immersing yourself in research, rekindling that old curiosity which had driven you to your field, was intoxicating. And after your run in with underworld operatives and government agencies, you wanted to reveal all you could. All the history you had ever known was coloured with conspiratorial underlining and cruel reality.

You couldn’t blind yourself with the narrative you had painted in the gallery. Staring at the past as James had. You wanted to know more. You felt like a child who had waded into the deep end. Truly though, you missed him.

It was preposterous that someone you had known for only a few months should affect you so much but you couldn’t help it. There was much about him you wanted to know still. That you _needed_ to know.

“Y/N,” Your mom called from downstairs as you shuffled through the books and papers which blanketed your desk. It was like your university days. Hidden behind a barricade of words; the queen of your castle, “You’ve got mail.”

“Mail?” You echoed, “Alright. One moment.”

You moved the open folder from your lap as you almost dropped it and stretched your arms with a crack. You spent too many hours bent over your desk and your mother’s warnings about your posture were starting to resonate with you. At least in the museum, you could walk around on tours or set up displays.

You nearly tripped down the stairs, entering the kitchen where your mother was cooking dinner. The smell of onions and garlic filled the air and you looked at the clock in surprise. Time passed when you locked yourself in an office with your blinds drawn.

“I thought you would’ve grabbed it yourself,” She muttered as she pointed to the counter with a knife, “I don’t think it’s healthy for you to be cooped up there all the time.”

“It’s how I make money, Mother,” You replied, “Which I don’t see you complaining about when I cut you a cheque.”

“Just take your mail,” She rolled her eyes, “It’s quite fancy for regular delivery.”

You looked to the envelope; black with a silver line down its flap. It was a letter sized packet and you had never seen anything like it. Eager, you tore open the lip and dumped out the thick stack of paper within. Your mother watched between chopping, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Well, who’s it from?” She asked impatiently.

_Dear Y/N,_

_It is the our honour to inform you that you have been selected as one of the speakers from your country for the Wakanda International Historical Conference. After reviewing your qualifications, we have found you to be an ideal candidate for our lecture series and hope you can join us._

_This year’s inaugural theme is Hidden Imperialism: Past and Present. Your paper should be fully edited and ready for presentation upon arrival. Within we have included any resources you may need for your last-minute touches as well as an outline of the event._

_Thank you and welcome to Wakanda,_

_The Wakandan National History Commission,_

_And His Majesty; Prince T’Challa_

Your eyes were wide and you could barely breathe. You hadn’t given much thought into the application as you had believed it to be a long shot. Instead you had carelessly ticked the boxes and revised an essay you had written far too long ago. You didn’t truly recall when you had submitted it and thought it was some twisted joke.

“I’m going to Wakanda…” You said dumbfounded and your mother took the letter from you, “I can’t believe it.”

You had watched on the news as Wakanda’s borders had been opened to the globe and you had never dreamed of seeing it yourself. Now you would be part of a history conference which would bring the world inward and the country outward. You really needed to pinch yourself. _Ow._

“Congrats,” You mom smiled handing back the letter, “It’ll be nice to get a break.”

“Hey,” You shook your head, “ You know, I still have another month to prepare so you’re stuck with me until then. I have to go make sure all my documents are in order, too. And what if I can’t go because of all this stuff with the CIA?”

“Don’t worry so much, you’re starting to sound like me,” Your mom laughed, “I’m sure it’ll be just fine. Just don’t go getting eaten by a leopard or whatever beasts they have over there.”

“Mom,” You sighed, “I’m not going to be in the middle of the Savannah.”

“You never know,” She shrugged, “You remember when that Koala attacked you at the zoo. You’ve a knack for attracting trouble.”

“Don’t remind me,” You muttered, looking at the letter once more. There was much to be done before you left.


	12. Chapter 12

You had fit everything you needed into a single suitcase. It was quite a feat but you had made it a must. The conference was only four days and you didn’t need your entire library. You doubted you’d have much time to read as you’d be revising and rehearsing in the hours before you presented. Then you’d be sitting through hours of papers afterward which would consume most of your energy and focus.

The flight was long and your legs were so stiff it hurt to move. You had never quite grasped the concept of sleeping during travel and so you were overtired and ready to keel over. Your head pounded and all you wanted was to curl up and black out.

You caught the shuttle which was pre-arranged for presenters and loaded up along with a dozen other of your colleagues. Despite the communal fatigue, there was a buzz in the air and the scholars introduced themselves in hopes of discussing the days to come. You repeated your name to a few but were not of the cognition to retain any of theirs.

You took a window seat and listened to the chatter though the words were little more than noise. You watched the Wakandan landscape pass you; shady trees, long grasses, interspersed with modernized buildings and vibrant fields. It was unlike any place you had seen before. The whole world had been competing to reach a future which already existed.

The shuttle stopped outside your hotel; its silver facade reflected the setting sunlight and its windows shone like hundreds of watching eyes. You found your bag amid the rabble and yawned as you stared up at the building. You were still trying to accept that you were in Wakanda! You had been chosen out of thousands.

You waited in the queue before the front desk, many others having arrived within minutes of you. When you reached the front you presented your identification and were handed a package in turn; your credentials, maps, guides, menus, even souvenirs. Everything you needed for your stay though you had little energy to do more than tuck it under your arm.

You found your room on the ninth floor and closed the door with a sigh of relief. Finally you could relax. You hated travelling for the anxiety it stirred in you; you always felt as if anything could go wrong and you would be stuck in limbo forever.

You set your alarm and kicked off your shoes, falling onto the queen bed which stood centre to the room. You would worry about everything in the morning but first, you desperately needed sleep.

* * *

It was like you were being stabbed in the brain as your alarm blared beside your head. You snorted and reached around blindly for your phone, swiping away the deafening whine. You sat up groggily and fumbled with the pods neatly sorted in a basket on the counter, setting a coffee to brew in the perculator.

You sat at the small dining table as you basked in the aroma of caffeine and looked through your phone. You should call your mother to tell her all was well and check your emails. At least try to keep up with your life, even if you didn’t have much of one.

You unpacked the envelope you had been given the night before; sorting through the programs for the next few days. Today would be the welcoming events and then three days of presentations;

_Day One: Science_

_Day Two: History_

_Day Three: Arts and Culture_

You had enough time to get washed up and call home before you had to be at the brunch though you doubted many would notice if you were late. Hell, you didn’t know anyone there and you couldn’t remember anyone you had met the night before. Even so, it would be good to get involved. This was a once in a lifetime experience and you only had four days!

* * *

You wore the lanyard included in your welcome package, your name and photo identifying you among the crowd. You found a seat among those who were easily recognizable as history nerds and began to sip on your third cup of coffee. You chewed on some fruit as you tried to ingratiate yourself with the strangers around you. It took you back to university and your crippling lack of social grace.

Working in the museum, it had been easy. You were merely sharing all you had learned with others. Paying it forward. But this was more stressful. One on one in a room of academics there purely on their skills. You felt out of place even though you had earned your spot the same as them.

A hush came over the tables and you followed the eyes to the front of the hall. The table at the head of the room was lined with the Wakandan royals and leaders, their king only then making his entrance. T’Challa walked to his seat and stood between his sister and his mother. Two female sentries stood just behind his seat, watching over him with spears in hand.

“I would like to welcome you all to Wakanda’s First Scholar’s Conference. We are excited for this exchange of ideas, cultural, social, and scientific. As we open our arms to the world, we hope that they should do the same and we are optimistic that this is the first step in doing so,” He bowed his head as he raised a glass and applause broke out without pause.

He was spoken like a true king, though to be fair, you had never seen a king in person before. You felt the hope he had spoken of and wondered if your paper could truly have as great an effect as all that. History was not so powerful as the future.

* * *

By the time the brunch had ended, you had achieved your first goal. You had made a friend, at least a tenuous one. Someone who looked as lost as you felt and you promised to see them through the conference if they did the same for you. Colleen reminded you of Jenn and liked to fidget with anything within reach. She was endearing and comforting, even if she never ceased moving.

You were laughing at some joke she had made about Cicero as you followed the tide of the crowd to the door. There was a whole schedule of events to choose from that day and you were still trying to decide if you’d rather explore Wakanda’s wilderness exhibit or the entrepreneurial fair. There was so much to explore and it was rejuvenating after the doldrum years you had spent at the museum.

You paused as you reached the hallway, keeping close to the wall as you waited for the swell to pass. You hated when you became swept up in a crowd and lost control. You’d rather the horde thin out so that you could find your way without being jostled. Colleen seemed grateful for the break and you checked your phone for the time.

“Pardon me,” You were nearly frightened as a skinny girl appeared before you, her eyes glued to your lanyard. She made no secret of reading it and her smiled betrayed her triumph, “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

You recognized her though she had been sitting all the way at the front of the room. She was the king’s sister, Shuri. He dark skin was like silk and her hair was finely twisted behind her head. Even so, there was a cunning glow to her which contradicted her princess status.

“P-princess Shuri, your majesty, I mean your grace–my lady,” Colleen was sputtering and you were struggling not to burst into laughter. You were as awestruck by the encounter but your new friend had beat you to the finish line of embarrassment.

“Shuri,” She assured Colleen with a smirk, “Please, no need to be nervous.” She looked to you with interest, “Y/N?” She touched your lanyard as if confirming it one last time, “My apologies but I thought since I happened by you, I’d take the chance now.”

“Chance?” You were utterly confused and Colleen’s fidgeting wasn’t helping matters.

“It’s almost like finding a needle in a haystack at these things and I was thinking it would be easier to find you at the hotel but I didn’t want to disturb you so late,” She explained, “Excuse me,” She turned to Colleen with a gentle smile and read her name tag casually, “Colleen, it’s so nice to meet you but could I borrow your friend.”

“Yes, your majesty, as you command,” Colleen curtsied and mumbled a befuddled farewell before awkwardly stumbling away. You waved over Shuri’s shoulder and watched her disappear into the crowd.

“Before anyone else notices me, could we step out?” The princess asked directing you through a door. “I’m sorry, this must be odd but I can’t really explain it. Would you come with me? I have someone who can.”

“Um, yes,” You stopped biting your lip to answer, “Look, is there something wrong? Did I do something?”

“No, no, you’re fine,” She gestured for you to follow and led you to another door. You walked beside her as she touched her cuff and spoke into it as if it were a phone, “I’ve found her. Where should I go?”

An answer you couldn’t hear came and she nodded, carrying on as if you weren’t being detained by a member of the royal family. You were starting to sweat and your thoughts were racing. You recalled Agent Everett K. Ross and the surveillance you knew he had kept on you.  _What if he had followed you all the way to Wakanda just to have you arrested?_

“Please, you’re far too worried,” She broke through your thoughts as she stopped before a door, “You’ve done nothing wrong. There’s merely someone you need to talk to.”


	13. Chapter 13

The revelation did nothing to solve the mystery. You still had no idea why you had been taken aside from the conference and your anxiety felt like needles along your neck. Awaiting you was the king of Wakanda, T’Challa, who seemed as impatient as you.

“He’s not here yet,” T’Challa said to his sister, “My apologies, Y/N, is it?” He turned to you as you looked around in confusion, “I hope we haven’t ruined your day.”

“No, not yet,” You answered half-mindedly, tucking your hands in your pocket as Shuri chuckled quietly.

“Please, have a seat,” The king offered, “Thought I hope it shouldn’t be long.”

“Soulja Boy sure likes to take his time,” Shuri commented.

“Don’t call him that,” T’Challa chided her, “He doesn’t get that reference. To be fair, neither do I.”

“I’m trapped with a bunch of old men,” Shuri cursed.

“I hate to be rude,” You interjected, resisting the urge to pace. Your swayed in placed instead and crossed your arms before tearing them apart, “But I would love to know why I’m here.”

A knock came at the door before either royal sibling could answer and Shuri smiled as her brother sighed in relief.

“You’re about to find out,” T’Challa crossed to the door, opening it to a figure with shoulders near as broad as the frame.

Your stomach fell to your toes as you recognized the man who entered. His beard and longer hair was a poor disguise and a even blind man would know him. The disgraced Captain America; Steve Rogers was standing in the same room as you. 

 _Did you know how to breathe?_  Because it didn’t feel like it.

You swallowed and coughed, failing to muster a greeting. You looked between T’Challa and the Captain, Shuri’s amusement poorly hidden as she sat in a woven chair. Until now, your shock had failed to sink in but it was all too suddenly drowning you.

“Oh my god,” You wiped your palms on your hips, “Oh god, you’re–Oh gee…” You were hyperventilating without breathing. You were defying the impossible and you felt as if you would pass out. You needed to get it together before you blew it. Whatever _it_ was.

“This is her?” He asked T’Challa who nodded and returned to his seat.

“Captain,” You said, trying to sound normal.

“Steve, please,” He corrected, “There’s no need to be nervous.”

“Sorry, but I—as a historian, we rarely see the subjects of our work in the flesh. Or really at all,” You balled your hands and calmed yourself, reminding yourself that you were still human. It would be best if you started acting like one.

“Hmm, I guess,” He gave a half-chortle, “I think we should sit.”

“Um, okay,” You watched him pull out a chair from the small table and followed his suit. You sat down across from him, peeking over at the two royals; T’Challa looked lost in thought and Shuri was smirking at her phone. “Can you please tell me why I’m here? Why you’re here?”

“It seems we have a mutual friend,” He said, “I’m not sure who he told you he was but I suspect you know by now.”

“I–” Your lips twitched as your chest seized. In all your excitement, you had almost forgotten James and all the trouble which had come before. He had never truly left your mind but for a moment, you had left his shadow behind. “James?”

“James?” He repeated bemusedly, “I only ever heard his mother call him that, but yes; Bucky.”

“Wait?” You glanced over at T’Challa, “Is this why I was invited? Because of him?” 

It wasn’t that you were disappointed, it was only for once, you had felt appreciated for your hard work. To think that you were an imposter in a room of academics; to have believed yourself as deserving as them. You had known it was too good to be true.

“No, it was chance, truly,” The king answered earnestly, “We had not thought to approach you so soon but you’re name arose and we took it as a sign. Steve’s only lucky that Agent Ross owed me a favour.”

“Agent Ross?” You frowned looking back to Steve, “He’s not here, is he?”

“As far as we know, he’s not,” Steve looked apt to rolled his eyes, “But he led us to you.”

“I already told him, I don’t know where James, or Bucky, is,” You were suddenly not so excited to be in Wakanda.

“That’s not what this is about,” Steve assured, “Look, I know Bucky and I know when he’s not telling me something. I had thought myself the only friend he had left in this world but I guess that was selfish of me. Ross let us look at his files and we read your interview. I thought it might be worth it to try.”

“You know where he is?” Your heart was suddenly racing.

“I do,” Steve smiled warmly, “And I found him because of you. If you hadn’t reached out to him in that museum, I don’t think he would have remembered as much…After I first found him, he ran into a terrorist who tried to reprogram him. He could have easily never come back from that, but I don’t think it was me who brought him back. Not  _just_  me.

“Bucky isn’t who he was. He was never the Winter Soldier and it wasn’t him who committed those crimes.” Steve’s face turned forlorn as he spoke, “He was just another pawn in someone else’s agenda.”

“I know he had nothing to do with Vienna; he was with me when that happened,” You said, “But what exactly can  _I_ do?”

“Well, I have a favour to ask of you,” Steve leaned forward hopefully, “I understand if you’re mad at him or you hate him. I don’t know what happened between you two. He doesn’t even know I know about you but I have to ask. Will you come see him?”

“You want me to see him?” You were astounded.

You searched the tabletop as you considered the offer. You had lost everything because of James and yet you had never hated him for it. You were frustrated with him for leaving so suddenly as you tried to fend off the mess in his stead. And the possibility of seeing him again had never seemed realistic; you would’ve thought him imprisoned or dead before that ever happened. 

“Why?” You asked.

“I want my best friend back,” Steve replied grimly, “And there’s still a part of him missing.”

“When?”

“At the end of the conference,” Steve’s eyes lit up and he stood, “Thank you, Y/N.”

You rose and he offered his hand, shaking yours as T’Challa stood and his sister lazily pushed herself to her feet.

“Reschedule your flight,” T’Challa advised, “And enjoy your time in Wakanda.”

The king opened the door for Steve and the two of them left with a short farewell, leaving you with Shuri. “Give me your phone,” She said curtly.

You handed over your phone and she keyed in a number, handing it back to you with a grin. “Those two are not much for details. If you need anything, text,” She turned to the door, pausing as she smirked over her shoulder, “The Broken White Boy is going to be so surprised.”


	14. Chapter 14

The days had seemed to drag by and yet, as you sat beside Shuri watching the tall grasses and lush trees flit past your windows, it felt like no time at all. You had spent three days both longing for and dreading your reunion with James. The night before you hadn’t even tried to sleep as you swung between excitement and frustration.

There was so much you had thought of saying to him but you had never thought the possibility real. So much hurt and relief mingled in one. After your impromptu meeting with Steve, you nearly smiled at the thought that James was alive and better yet, he was close to you. But the moment you had returned to your hotel room you had grown filled with anger, thinking of all that had led to that moment.

You weren’t resentful of the change. Being so far removed from the museum, you were coming to appreciate the loss of your job. The break in the malaise; the endless routine of being overworked and oppressed. But with it, you had surrendered your sense of purpose. You had given up your own home, retreated to the safety of your mother’s, and shielded yourself with academia.

You had fallen on old habits to protect yourself from the unknown. You both thanked and cursed James for his part in it.

“Don’t be nervous,” Shuri demanded; she was comforting in that she never allowed for much argument, “I know the white boy well enough by now. He’ll be more afraid than you are…I don’t know if you have anything to do with his whole jaded schtick but if you do, well done, girl.”

“I think that might be part of his programming,” You grumbled. You thought back to that first day you had approached him. His penetrating gaze, his evasive manner;  _how had it all led to this?_

“Hgh,” She chortled and shook her head, “You’re sharper than you let on,” She mused, “When Soulja Boy told me about this mysterious woman who had the Broken White Boy all tied up, I thought she’d be more than a librarian.”

“I’m not a librarian,” You huffed, peeking over the driver’s seat to the vehicle just ahead; T’Challa and Steve led the way down the roads of the Wakandan tundra.

“Eh, I’m just teasing,” She waved her fingers at you, “I just…you don’t seem the type to get tied up in all this.”

“And you are? I hear you spend most of your time in your lab,” You shrugged, “If you weren’t the princess, you’d be as nerdy as me.”

“Well, you’ve got me there,” She said lightly, “Which is why I like you. Trust me, you’re better riding with me. My brother and his American, they’re boring…we should go out dancing.”

“Dancing?” You tilted your head at her; she was quite a bit younger than you and it had been some time since dancing had been part of your vocabulary, “I don’t think so.”

“You’ll be begging for it once you see the White Boy’s pad,” She commented as she lazily read a text across her phone screen.

The car slowed and you glanced out the window as you came to a stop. Steve got out and approached your window, leaning down as you rolled down the glass. “Let me start,” He said, “He doesn’t even know I’m coming…you just take your time. Whenever you’re ready.”

“Okay,” You untangled your fingers having twined them together in your anxiety, “Are you sure about this?”

“Are you?” He countered, “Look, Y/N, I may not know you very well but I know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to be,” He considered you a moment before continuing, “And any friend of Bucky’s is a friend of mine.”

He tapped the roof of the car and turned away, T’Challa taking his place next to the car. He crossed his arms and leaned on the driver’s door, watching Steve as he approached the house. The yard was fenced in by a low wooden pen and goats dotted the patchy grass, chewing at the ground and climbing on the few rocks along the landscape.

You could hear a door open and the sound of voices though you couldn’t see the front of the house. Your stomach was twisting and your heart fluttering. You sat back against the seat and covered your face, trying to find your courage. James was the same man who had stood brooding in your museum; sat in your office and looked over your collection of artifacts; the ghost who had haunted your life for months.

“It’s like pulling off a band-aid, the sooner you do it, the better you’ll feel,” Shuri touched your shoulder, “This is your chance; hug him, slap him, spit in his face. It’s all you, girl.”

You nearly laughed and lowered your hands, exhaling as you stretched out your arms. She was right. You needed to do it. You needed closure. You had life ahead of you still and you couldn’t let the past hold you back any longer.

“Okay, I’m ready,” You said and T’Challa pulled open the door, a smile not so subtle as he watched you stand. You looked back to the royal siblings in one last act of reluctance. Shuri nodded and shooed you away.

The first step was like trying to walk through quicksand but with each, you felt stronger. You could see Steve’s broad shoulders as he talked, you neared and you felt the ocean rising within you. The waves of emotion swirled around and as you came in sight of James, the dam burst. You stepped up beside Steve, standing in the silence; time seemed to have come to a stop as your eyes met James’.

“Hello, James,” You said, “Or Bucky. Whoever it is you truly are.”

He looked as if he had been slapped. He glanced at Steve and sputtered, his blue eyes flicking between the two of you. You had never seen him so uncertain. And then he did something you had never seen expected. He smiled; his cheeks rounded and his face glowed as he closed the distance between you, pulling you in with his single arm and hugging you to him in a stunning act.

“Y/N,” He whispered as he released you, pushing back his hair as if suddenly recalling himself, “I—Steve! How did you–”

“You!” You pointed at him, “You….you….how dare you?” You were nearly shaking as your emotion tumbled out in stunted words, “You’re smiling at me? After all this?” Both men were startled as your tangent began to flow, “All you could do was scowl at me for months and  _now_  you smile? I ought to smack it right off your face! I lost my job, my home, my life!”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean to–I had to go,” He pleaded,, “Not just for me, but for you.”

“And I lost a friend,” You breathed in, closing your eyes as you calmed yourself. “I’m just…” You sighed, the tension draining from you, “I’m just happy you’re still alive, dammit.”

“Well, you always did have a way of provoking the ladies,” Steve quipped, earning a jab from James.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” James marveled, wavering on his feet as he seemed unsure of what to do next. You felt a tugging on your pants and his brow furrowed as you followed his eyes to the source. A small goat was chewing on your trousers; it’s grey fur speckled with white.

“Oscar!” Bucky nearly hollered as he seized the goat, “You little brat! How many times do I have to do this.” He held the animal in one arm, “He’s eaten nearly all my socks,” It was almost funny to watch him struggle with the squirming goat, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I can fix them,” You watched as Oscar latched onto a loose strand of James’ hair and you stifled a laugh.

“Hey,” He pulled his head away and set the goat down, giving it a soft slap on its rump, “Get out of here, Oscar.”

“So, are you going to invite us in?” Steve asked, “We’ve been driving all day.”

“And the others?” James asked, “I know you never travel alone here.”

“They’ll take a car back and leave us the other,” Steve assured, “Gosh, Buck, you’re as poor a host as ever.”

“Seriously?” James stepped back and opened the screen door, “It’s a goat farm, not a palace, Steve.”

Steve waved you on first and as you passed James, he smiled again and you couldn’t help but do the same. He was the same man you remembered and yet, he had changed. He seemed lighter; happier. It was harder to stay mad at this James.


	15. Chapter 15

James  closed the screen door as you entered. The living room was small but cozy; an empty fireplace on the far wall and couch swathed in a hand-stitched tribal blanket. He squeezed past you and Steve and led you further down the hallway to the kitchen, a dining room visible through the next doorway.

“Coffee?” He offered with a hopeful smile, crossing to the machine as he dug out a tin of grounds.

“I’ll pass,” Steve sat at the island, stretching his legs with a groan, “Sorry about the short notice.”

“Short notice?” James scoffed as he poured the water and flipped the switch, “You could’ve said something about your surprise visitor…not that I mind.”

He smiled at you again, the unusual habit almost making you uneasy. You had to get us to that.

“Let’s just say I knew about as much as you did,” You yawned into your arm and climbed up onto one of the stools before the island, your legs almost dangling, “So, what do I call you now? James? Bucky?”

“Whatever you want,” He shrugged and stood across the counter from you, “I swear Steve,” He looked to his friend, “How did you know? How did you find her?”

“I was presenting a paper at the conference,” You interjected, “I didn’t think you’d be so thrilled though.”

“Why?” He searched you, his blue eyes sparkling, “I’m sorry I was so cold, Y/N, but I really was your friend.”

“It’s not that, it’s just…I don’t know. A lot has happened,” You shifted as you reached into your pants pocket, “Look, I have something you should have. It belongs to you, truly.”

You took out the letter he had written you, slipping out the photo which showed him next to his oldest friend. Steve squinted curiously at the picture as you held it out to Bucky and slowly he took it from you. He looked it over and handed it to Steve who chuckled and gave it back.

“You really held onto this for me?” He pressed the edge with his finger before tucking it in his pocket and you replaced the letter in yours.

“If I hadn’t, they would’ve found it and I would’ve been in even more trouble,” You leaned on the island and stifled another yawn. You should have tried to sleep the night before; at least have laid down, “But no, not for you. For me but only because I thought it’d be the only way I’d ever see you again…you know, you really made a big mess.”

“I know,” He said guiltily, turning back to the counter behind him. He pulled a pair of mugs from the cupboard, one at a time. He was surprisingly agile with one arm and the sight was still jarring at moments. It struck you to think that before, beneath his jacket, he had been hiding a metal killing machine,” So, no more museum?”

He set a cup before you and took his own. You inhaled the brew’s scent and relaxed. You didn’t feel so displaced even more. You were not so much the third wheel to a pair of veterans; two souls from another time.

“No, not that I’m terribly sad about it,” You cupped your hand around the warm mug, “I understand why you had to leave, but why didn’t you tell me? Anything?”

“If I had, those agents would’ve pressed you further,” He pulled a stool up to his side of the island and sat, “It’s easier to act ignorant if you are.”

“Yeah, I guess,” You sipped from your coffee and thought; he was right and you were bitter over imagined slights. He had done you more favours than misdeeds, “The museum must be near empty without the two of us now.”

“I can imagine,” Bucky grinned, “So, you going to find a new museum?”

“I don’t know. I’ve not been doing much of anything,” You felt embarrassed; you weren’t living on a goat farm but you were living with your mother, “I’ve been writing; doing conferences; chasing history but I’m starting to tire of the past.”

“Really?” He lifted a brow, glancing at Steve, “I’m sorry to say but you’re sitting with two old men.”

“Living history,” Steve added, “Though our memories are a bit hazy.”

“You should’ve seen it, Steve,” Bucky began, “What Y/N had done. She built a whole exhibit on the 1930s and it wasn’t like all those things you read in books. It wasn’t flowery…it looked just like my mother’s house. I swear it was like I was there again, like everything hadn’t happened.”

You listened to Bucky rave; shocked at the details he could recite and the light which had overcome him.  _All this because of you? Your work?_  Looking back, his behaviour started to make more sense. You had been standing right beside him but he had stepped back seventy years.

“Please, it was my job,” You waved away his words, “Recreating the past isn’t so hard when you have hard copies.”

“And she can never take a compliment,” Bucky frowned at you mockingly.

“I saw her at the conference,” Steve gave a half-smirk, “She’s good at what she does. The two of us could use a lesson or two to fill in the blanks.”

“You were watching?” You were once more shocked;  _Captain America had listened to your conference paper._

“I needed something to pass the time, though it was entertaining,” He said, “And trust me, if you can make history interesting to this one,” He gestured to Bucky, “Well, you deserve a medal.”

“I’ve gained a new appreciation,” Bucky rolled his eyes and drank from his mug.

“Because you’re a relic now,” Steve jibed, “Just like me.”

* * *

“Well, I don’t think I can drink anymore coffee,” Bucky stood, stretching his arm, “And I’ve got to feed the goats before Oscar finds something he shouldn’t to nibble on.”

“We’ll be here,” Steve assured and you nodded as you watched Bucky leave through the side door.

You spread your hands on the countertop. The coffee had rattled your already jittery nerves and the situation still felt surreal. The sky had grown dark for how long you had been sitting, talking and listening, but you were still yawning endlessly. You got up and poured the dregs of your coffee down the drain, listening to Bucky’s distant voice. You were certain he was yelling at that goat again.

“Hey, Y/N, before Buck gets back, I should talk to you,” You rinsed out your mug and turned back to Steve, “Look, I know I’ve already asked a lot of you. You didn’t have to come here but I know there was a part of you that needed to and–”

You had never expected to see him hesitate, but he paused as he considered his next words, “Bucky needed it too. I can’t stay here very long, I have a team to lead and it would be too dangerous,” Steve explained, “But I know he’s lonely around here and I can’t risk him sliding backwards again. One more slip and it could be the end. The people who took him, well, they really did a number on him.”

“I know,” You thought back to those days in the museum when he had just stared at the wall, “I didn’t know him very long, but I could see it in him. He was searching for something but I think he found it. Steve, he found you again and–”

“I’m not a good enough friend for him right not. I bring back memories; painful ones and he needs someone who can help him work through them, not someone who provokes them,” Steve sighed as he stood and pushed back his hair, “I wouldn’t ask this of you if I didn’t think you could do it and you don’t have to say yes. But I saw how you and him get on; you even him out.

“Today, I almost forgot that anything had ever happened; that he had ever wielded a knife against me or looked at me like a stranger,” Steve looked to the door, making certain he was not being overheard, “Can you stay? Just for a little bit? A week? After, you’re free to go…or stay.”

“Well, I haven’t much to go back to,” You shrugged, twiddling your fingers as you thought, “It wouldn’t hurt me to stay and I wouldn’t mind it. I did miss him, even after all this bullshit.”

“Ahem,” Steve cleared his throat and gave you a pointed look before speaking, “Thank you, Y/N, it’ll make the trip back a little less painful. Shuri left your suitcase in the car just in case, I’ll bring it up before I go.”

You should’ve been a bit more wary of Shuri, you thought to yourself as you rubbed your head. You had merely thought you’d be leaving for the airport, instead you’d be cancelling another flight home. Making another phone call to your mother.

Steve stood at the end of the island with his arms crossed, waiting for Bucky who came stomping in the side door. His hair was a mess and he was desperately trying to untangle the tie from it. “Sometimes, they just team up on me and–” He stopped short as he saw Steve, “You’re leaving?”

“You know I have to,” Steve said sadly, “My team needs me.” He stepped forward and patted Bucky’s shoulder, “It was nice to see you, Buck. Besides, I’m not leaving you all alone.”

“I told you, the goats don’t help,” Bucky grumbled.

“I’m staying,” You stepped up beside Steve, feeling like a child next to the burly super soldiers. _Why hadn’t Bucky seemed so big before?_  “If that’s alright?”

“What–of course, but shouldn’t you go home?”

“For what? No job, no house. I’ll give my mom a call but really, I haven’t many things holding me back,” You hooked your thumbs in your belt loops awkwardly, “And it seems like you need some help around here.”

“Do you know much about goats?” He asked.

“A little, I used to work at a pioneer village,” You sounded like such a nerd, “We did re-enactments.”

“Of course you did,” He laughed and you felt your cheeks burn, “Alright,” He turned back to Steve, “You can go without feeling guilty this time.”

“I’ll call you as always. And you,” Steve pointed at you, reminding you of one of his old PSA’s, “You help him use the computer. Our video chats haven’t been very successful. He could use some help adjusting to the new century.”

“I’m not the only old man here,” Bucky led Steve to the door, the two of them exchanging a final farewell and short embrace. Two veterans of a war nearly forgotten; the last of the old breed. “I’ll bring that bag up and I’ll be on my way.”

You watched Steve duck through the side door as Bucky turned back to you. He was about to say something when he stumbled and nearly fell on his face, catching himself with the island. He looked between his feet and you heard the little clops as a grey goat appeared on your side of the counter.

“Dammit, Steve let Oscar in again,” Bucky steadied himself and began to pursue the goat, “Get him before he finds my socks.”


	16. Chapter 16

You watched as Bucky wrestled the goat with one arm. He was muttering angrily under his breath as he tried to drag it towards the door and you were hesitant to get in between. Both seemed to be putting up quite a fight and while it was entertaining, one of them was about to get hurt.

“Hey, just calm down for a minute,” You slowly approached the goat from the other side, “You said his name is Oscar?”

“Yes, but it’s not like he responds to it,” Bucky held onto the goat but ceased forcing it across the room, “I only named them so I knew which ones to avoid.”

“Sure,” You shook your head and knelt, holding a hand out to the creature, “Oscar, come here. Bucky, let him go.”

Slowly, with all the distrust he could muster, he released Oscar and the goat stilled his kicking. Its glassy eyes met yours and it chewed ponderously in your direction. You called to him again, keeping your palm flat and your voice even. Cautiously, he neared =and you let him sniff and slobber all over your hand.

“Alright,” You grabbed Oscar’s scruff but not unkindly, “We’re going outside before you hurt James, okay?” You spoke to him quietly, “Let’s go.”

You kept a steady pace as you stood half-hunched and led the goat to the door, opening it and sending it out into the night with a sullen bleat. You wiped off your hands as you turned back and closed the door, Bucky standing with his mouth slightly ajar. You couldn’t tell if he was confused or annoyed.

“How did you do that?” He asked, stunned.

“You get more bees with honey,” You shrugged and yawned into your arm, “Goats are stubborn and I don’t think fighting fire with fire is going to work with him.”

“You don’t understand,” Bucky grumbled, “That goat…”

“He’s gone,” You chuckled, “No need to worry about him,” You paused to yawn again, “Anymore.”

“I guess,” Bucky’s tone softened, “You look dead tired, Y/N. You must’ve had a long day.”

“You could say a long week,” You corrected, “I swear, this country never sleeps.”

“Well, here’s your chance,” Bucky went over to the suitcase Steve had left while he was distracted with Oscar. He extended the handle and took your tote from atop it, “It’s quiet out here. Perfect for sleeping.”

You neared him and took the tote as he struggled to sling it over his arm and pull your bag at the same time. He nodded his thanks as you hooked it over your shoulder and he rolled your bag behind him as he waved you towards the other side of the kitchen.

“There’s a guest room but not much to it so I’ll let you have mine for the night,” He stopped to open the door, pushing it inward, “I’ll get you fresh sheets and you can lay down. We’ll catch up properly in the morning and get the other room in working order.”

“I can’t take your room,” You argued, grabbing onto your suitcase before he could go further, “Please, let me take the couch.”

“I’ll take the couch, I insist,” He tugged on the bag until you released it, “You’re a lot stronger than you look, you know?”

“James–Bucky, I can’t, really,” You protested but he dragged your suitcase into the room and set it against the wall.

“You can and you will,” He came back into the hallway and took your tote from you, placing it on the dresser just inside the door, “I’ve slept on worse than a couch; trenches, car seats, cryogenic pod…”

“Fine, fine, I get it,” You relented; too tired to carry on, “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Bucky said with a smile, “You didn’t have to stay. I know Steve asked you to and I know that you didn’t have to, especially after all the shit I caused.”

“It’s all in the past now,” You assured him, unable to withhold another yawn, “I wouldn’t go back and change one bit of it.”

“I think your lack of sleep is clouding your judgment,” He kidded, “I’ll get those sheets and let you rest, I’m sure I’ve cost you enough of that as it is.”

* * *

You slept much heavier than you had in weeks. It was as if your months of insomnia had been cured by one night away from the world’s troubles. Or perhaps it was closure. Knowing that Bucky was alive and that you hadn’t thrown everything away for nothing.

The bed was almost too comfortable to leave but you had to get up before you gave yourself a headache. You pulled your hair back behind your head sloppily and opened your door quietly, peeking out into the kitchen. In only your sweatshirt and pajama bottoms, your crept out and listened for any sign of life.

There was snoring from the living room and you kept your footsteps light as you crossed to the door. You had to keep yourself from laughing aloud and waking Bucky. He was dead asleep on the couch, a blanket twisted around his legs, his hair a mess around his face, and Oscar against his bare chest. He could deny all he wanted, but that beast was a better friend to him than any.

You kept your movements easy, careful not to lift anything to quickly or step too heavily. You dug through the cupboards for a pan and a bowl, searching the fridge for ingredients. It was the least you could do. Besides, you were starving after your long-needed sleep.

You chopped up tomato, onion, and pepper, mixing up some eggs before setting the omelet to sizzle atop the stove. The kitchen was starting to smell a lot more welcoming. You turned a pot of coffee on and stood before the percolating urn patiently, though the tapping of your fingers would suggest otherwise.

“You’re cooking?” Bucky’s voice scared you as he entered behind you, dropping onto a stool with a yawn. You twirled around in fright, unable to hide your surprise, “Sorry,” He wiped his eyes with his knuckles, his chest visible beneath the blanket slung across his shoulders, “Bad habit…I tend to sneak up on people without meaning to.”

“It’s fine,” You waved away his apology, turning back to take out a set of mugs, “Don’t think I didn’t see you and that goat, though.”

“Hmmm? Well, I was tired and he wouldn’t shut up,” He grumbled and you hid your grin, pouring the coffee with a sigh, “You didn’t have to make breakfast.”

“I did,” You nearly sang as you set his mug before him and your stomach growled, “Because I’m starving. Now, since you’re awake, you decide: cheese or no?”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I’ve been updating almost every other day and it’s because I’m excited and I love this story but I can’t promise consistency :) But I’ll definitely try.

You were pouring your second coffee and setting out plates when Bucky began to shoo away Oscar. The goat had followed him in from the living room and was now mooching at the smell of eggs. All the love you had witnessed between them in their slumber had disappeared and they were close to wrestling once more.

“Oscar,” You opened the side door with a wave, “Out. Now.”

The goat stomped his hoof but obeyed, if only to further annoyed his minder. You divided the omelet and flipped it onto the plates, placing one before Bucky before sitting down with your own. You had added extra cheese at his request, though you didn’t mind.

“I don’t know why he listens to you,” Bucky muttered, “All I’ve done is fed and watched over him, and this is how he treats me.”

“He’s a goat,” You shook your head, “One of how many exactly?”

“Too many,” He took a bite of eggs and frowned, “I don’t know why Steve left me out here. I don’t mind the isolation but goats? Really?”

“Would you rather chickens?” You asked, “Or something with bigger poops?”

“I’m eating,” He growled.

“Okay, okay,” You chuckled, “I was just being funny.”

“Funny?” He raised a brow, “The assistant curator is making a joke everyone. Please, quiet down and don’t touch the exhibits.”

“I think I may have preferred it when you didn’t talk so much,” You drank from your coffee as you stared him down, “I almost miss the brooding.”

Bucky’s fork paused in mid-air before he could take another bite. He turned his head as if listening for something and you did the same. It wasn’t until a few minutes later that your heard the pressure of tires on gravel. Slowly, he lowered his fork and rose, crossing to the door, tension turning his movement mechanical.

“Who is it?” You asked as he peeked out.

“It looks like the royal family on another visit,” He retreated and sat back down, “My breakfast doesn’t need to go cold on their account.”

“Oh? Do they come often?”

“Not really, not the king at least,” He continued to eat, speaking between bites, “His sister however…”

“You should be happy someone wants to visit an old geezer,” You chided.

“You’ve been spending time with her,” He accused, pointing his fork at you, “…I’m not that old.”

A knock kept you from responding and you looked over to Shuri as she pressed her face against the screen door. “It’s only me,” She announced as she let herself in, “Am I interrupting something?”

She winked at you but you just wrinkled your brow and bit into another mouthful, “No,” You swallowed and looked to Bucky as he brushed hair away from his face and cleared his throat, “Just our breakfast.”

“Well, you’re settling in nicely,” She grinned and looked around, “Steve said you’d be staying a while and I thought you’d need some stuff. A bed, maybe? Some clothes?”

“I have clothes,” You argued, “But I’ll take the bed.”

“You’re clothes are so boring,” She whined, “Just because you’re a librarian–”

“I’m not a librarian,” You interjected.

“Just because you worked in a museum?” She gave a pause as if for confirmation, “Doesn’t mean you have to dress the same age as him.”

“Hey,” Bucky said as he rose, dumping his plate in the sink, “I’m not that old.”

“Sure, sure,” Shuri raised her hands defensively, “Anyhow, as I was saying, I brought you some gifts but I also brought you something even better: me! A little girl time before you’re stranded with this–” She looked to Bucky as he glared at her, “Upstanding young man…better?”

“No,” He huffed and swigged the last of his coffee, “Do what you have to do. I gotta feed the goats.”

Bucky swung the door open harshly and bounded down the steps. You glanced at Shuri who looked ready to burst as she neared the counter beside you, “He’s so easy to rile. Almost as much fun as my brother.”

* * *

“I hope you’re handy,” Shuri said as she led you out to her car, a trailer attached to its bumper, “Living around here, you better learn quick.”

“What? You, a princess, have never put a bed together before?” You challenged and she laughed as she unlocked the trailer doors.

“No, princesses get their furniture pre-assembled,” She replied, “Besides, I end up falling asleep in the lab more than my own bed.”

You smiled as she opened the trailer. There was a time where you had spent too many late nights at the museum; in a way, you missed them. An odd wave of nostalgia came over you and you looked around at the Wakandan landscape; the goat farm a speck amid radiant grasses and billowing trees. To think only months ago, you were confined to the stuffy museum.

“I can’t carry this myself,” Shuri called from the trailer, “If you haven’t noticed, I have toothpick arms.”

“Sorry,” You climbed up behind her and grabbed one end of the long box, the pieces rattling within. You lifted with a grunt, “Oh, this is fucking heavy.”

“It fucking is,” Shuri agreed through gritted teeth and you began to slowly back out of the trailer. Your first step down was awkward but you were able to take the brunt of the weight when Shuri descended.

You turned and hooked your arms around the box, guiding her towards the front door. You set down the bed frame on the other side of the gate and propped open the door, taking your end once more. As you looked back, you saw Bucky coming out of the barn. 

He stopped and watched from the door. Neither of you had changed; your own sweatshirt and pajama pants making you warm in the early Wakandan sun. Bucky was still bare-chested, though he didn’t seem to mind, as he smirked at you and Shuri’s struggle.

“Don’t you let any of the goats in,” He called over, “And try not to scuff my walls.”

“Alright, Goat Boy,” Shuri returned over her shoulder, “You just take care of your furry little friends.”

You finally managed to get the box inside, angling it down the narrow hallway and into the living room. At the other side of the room stood the door to the guest room, though it seemed further than you could go. You dragged Shuri around the couch and leaned your end of the box against your leg and the wall as you pushed open the door.

Inside, the room was barren. The windows were darkened by a pair of thick curtains and the walls showed marks of having been recently stripped of wallpaper. Even though there was no furniture, the room was dusty and you would need to clean before you did anything further.

“Here, let’s put this down here,” You placed the frame in the center of the room, “We’ll need to dust and wipe down the walls. Wash the floors…”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, do I look like a maid?” Shuri crossed her arms.

“Okay, I’ll do all that,” You rolled your eyes. Shuri was smart beyond her years but she still had some teenager in her. You didn’t mind so much. She was doing you a favour just by bringing you all she had. “You can sit and watch? Or maybe go bug Bucky some more?”

“I didn’t come to hang out with that senior citizen,” She leaned against the door frame as you opened the curtains, “It’s nice to have another girl around here. All these men are so serious.”

“Don’t you have friends your own age?” You asked as you gestured to excuse yourself, slipping past her into the living room, “I mean…I’m old compared to you, too.”

“Yes, but they don’t know about Goat Boy and the Golden Crusader,” She explained, “Plus, they only want to hang with the Princess of Wakanda, not Shuri.”

“Oh,” You looked around, searching for a closet or cupboard, “Well, I suppose I didn’t consider that; me having been like any other non-royal teenage geek. Give me a moment.”

You scurried into the kitchen and rushed over to the small door that looked to be a closet. Within was a broom and mop, some cleaning supplies but no agents. You would need more than water and vinegar to wash away the remnants of neglect. You heard the screen door open and close and turned as Bucky entered, struggling to tie his hair with only one hand.

“You need some help?” You asked as you watched him untangle his fingers from the hair tie.

“Do you?” He glanced at the open door.

“Cleaning supplies?” You tilted your head hopefully.

“Under the sink,” He answered, “And yes, I’ll take that help.”

He looked ready to snap the elastic as he held it out to you and you approached him and took it with an awkward smile. “Alright, turn around,” You directed him, “And maybe bend your knees a bit…” He followed your instruction, almost comically and you gathered his hair at the back of his head and swiftly looped the tie around it three times. “There,” You patted his shoulder without thinking, recoiling out of embarrassment;  _why were so weird sometimes?_

“Thanks,” He stood straight and turned around, “Sometimes I forget…” He glanced at his left shoulder, “It’s like I never had a chance to realize it was gone.”

“Asking for help isn’t weakness,” You said, “In fact, if you don’t, you’re usually worse off.”

You knelt and opened the cupboard under the sink, searching through the bottles.

“Well, do you need any help?” He stood by the sink, looking down at you from over the cupboard door, “Getting set up and all that?”

“I think me and Shuri can handle it,” You pulled out a few cleaners and closed the door, standing and taking the bucket from the closet. You dumped the bottles into the pail and grabbed the mop and broom, “You must have your own stuff to worry about…which you’re going to show me tomorrow. I wanna help while I’m here. Maybe mediate a little anger management for you and Oscar.”

“Pfft,” He scoffed and shook his head, “Fine, go. Have fun cleaning. I’ll just enjoy another cup of coffee…You and Shuri sure are a pair.”

“We sure are,” You sang teasingly and the screen door rattled; you looked over and saw a familiar nose pressed against it, “Oh, you’ve got a visitor.”

“Go away, Oscar,” Bucky growled as he took the urn from the percolator, rinsing it out as he tried to ignore the goat kicking at the door.

“Have fun,” You trilled as you passed back into the living room.

Shuri moved to let you back into the room and you unpacked your goods from the bucket. You held out the empty container to her and smiled. “Can you at least fetch me some hot water, Princess?”

She gave you a sardonic look but took the bucket and grinned, “I can,” She answered, “And then it should be my pleasure to watch all your hard work.”


	18. Chapter 18

It was starting to feel like there was a place for you here and you wouldn’t feel so guilty about taking Bucky’s bed. It had taken most of the day to clean and it had left you feeling grimy. Shuri had helped you put together the bed and move in the few other pieces she had brought with her. 

Against your protests, she had hung various garments in your closet alongside your own and insisted you accept them. You had to admit, Wakandan fashion did intrigue you. 

After a hurried dinner in which you scarfed down your food, you saw Shuri off and gave a ragged good night to Bucky. You were finally able to shower and fall into bed. You wore a nightgown Shuri had left; its deep blue fabric decorated with intricate designs. It was almost too nice to sleep in.

Even so, you fell into a heavy slumber, dreaming of goats and Wakandan sunshine. For once, you did not wake to visit the washroom or have a drink. You had never slept so peacefully. You awoke with a dry mouth and your hair in knots around your head. You brushed it out with your fingers as best you could and tied it back as you tiptoed out of your room.

“Hey,” Bucky said as you walked into the kitchen, his back to you as he sat at the island, “Up already?”

“And you?” You countered as you took a glass from the cupboard and filled it from the tap. You turned back to him, wiping the sleep from your eyes as you drank, “Did you even sleep?”

He shrugged evasively, staring back as you neared the other side of the island. You didn’t notice Oscar until you almost stepped on him, curled in a ball at the foot of the counter. Somehow, despite Bucky’s best efforts, the goat was always in the house.

Bucky’s eyes lingered on your nightgown as you saw the thoughts bouncing back and forth across his face. “Did Shuri give you that?”

“Um, yeah,” You looked down, realizing how thin the fabric really was. Comfortable for sleeping but not so much for being seen, “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that,” His voice was thick; tired. He looked as if he had had a long night. “I just…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear that much colour.”

“Oh, really?” You pursed your lips as you thought; you had never really worn more than muted tones and greys as curator. You were mousy, even for a scholar. “Well, I decided to try something new…besides, these are just pajamas.”

“You must be having some amazing dreams then,” He stood, rounding the island to the far counter, “You want some coffee?”

“Sure,” You said, setting down your empty glass, “You still alright to show me around today?”

“Of course,” He placed a mug before you, sitting down with his own, “Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t leave those beasts to themselves.”

“Evidently not,” You glanced at Oscar who was still fast asleep.

“He gets the other goats riled,” Bucky frowned, “And at this rate, he’s going to break the door if he keeps kicking at it.”

“He’s not so bad,” You smiled, “I like him.”

“Well, he listens to you,” Bucky mumbled into his mug.

“You get what you give,” You replied, “Sometimes a softer touch is better than a loud voice.”

* * *

It was hot that day. The sun was beating down and you were thankful for the wardrobe Shuri had left you. Otherwise, you would’ve have been stuck in wool trousers and a stuffy blouse. Instead, you wore pale capris and a sleeveless tee spotted with panther heads. It was interesting choice by the princess but your own taste never erred past stripes. And the boots were much more appropriate than your suede flats.

“First, we have to feed them,” Bucky said as he carried Oscar under one arm out the side door. He had spent the ten minutes it had taken you to change chasing after the goat. “Easy enough, unless your late. Then they turn a bit rabid.”

He took you into the barn and showed you where he kept the bags of grains, handing you a scoop to help him fill the troughs. Every colour of goat crowded around as you scattered oats for them; black, white, grey, some one shade, some a mix of two or three. 

They followed you and Bucky as he explained his routine and led you out into the fenced yard.  It had once been you guiding him. You thought of that first tour you had taken him on in the museum.  It felt unusual for the roles to be reversed. 

Once out in the sun, the goats scattered, Oscar running as fast as he could to the other side of the field. “He does that,” Bucky said, “But he’ll reappear when you least expect it.” He looked around at the others, grazing in the grass, “That’s Charlotte,” He pointed at a particularly plump one, “She’s expecting…” He rubbed his neck anxiously, “I don’t really know how I’m going to handle that though.”

“Yeah, um, maybe we should call in help that day,” You chuckled nervously; baby goats sounded cute but their birthing, less than.

“I’m sorry to say, a goat farm is not so glamourous as a museum,” He stopped you short, nearly causing you to stumble, “Watch your step.” He looked down at a pile of droppings, “That’s our next job…”

“Oh, okay,” You weren’t overly bothered; you had owned pets in the past and the pioneer village had its share of animal leavings. “Do I get a bucket or should I just use my hands?”

He scoffed at you bemusedly, “No,” He shook his head, “I’ll grab the shovel…don’t touch it.”

“It was a joke,” You rolled your eyes, “Maybe you  _have_  been spending too much time with these goats.”

“Or maybe you’re not that funny,” He returned as he headed for the barn.

You watched after him, pondering once more at the circumstance. If you could go back to that day in the museum when you had broken the wall between you, you would’ve never guessed you would one day be standing here. Or that he would ever treat you with more than a cold shoulder and wary gaze. But you never would have imagined a super soldier would’ve been frequenting your gallery either.

“Alright, here we go,” He reappeared with a bucket and shovel, “The only good thing about this is that we’ll have a bit of fertilizer.”

“There’s a good part to poop,” You mused, reaching out to take the shovel from him.

“You don’t have–”

“I asked you to show me around but I meant it about helping,” You insisted, taking the shovel from him and scooping up the droppings near your boots, “Enjoy your chance not to do the dirty work.”

“Well, if you’re so inclined,” He set the bucket down, stepping back to watch, kneeling down as Charlotte approached him in a waddle, “Hey, you.” He pet her and you listened as he cooed at her.

You continued to drag around the bucket and clean the yard, glancing over to find Bucky scratching the pregnant goat’s ear as he talked to her in a low voice. He was smiling as he chatted with the animal and you reflected on the difference in him between the kitchen and the yard. When you had awoken, he had seemed troubled but the moment you had come outside, the tension had released him.

This was what he needed, as much as neither you or he could understand it. He needed to be away from the world which had treated him so cruelly and continued to hunt him. But Steve had been right; Bucky didn’t  _need_  to be alone. He had been on his own for long enough.


	19. Chapter 19

You were starting to understand why Bucky had such a contradictory relationship with Oscar. He had run you ragged as the sun went down, having somehow gotten hold of the book you had left on your bedside table. You couldn’t fathom when he had found the chance to sneak into your room but he was skipping around with a biography of Louis XIV in his mouth. It was almost a feat but less impressive as you finally got a hold of it when he had dropped it in the mud.

You had fallen asleep reading that very book, the pages opened across your chest as one leg hung over the edge of the bed. You awoke in the yellow glow of your lamp, unable to recall the last word you had read. You shut the book and set it aside, stretching as you pushed your legs over the side of the mattress.

There was a faint light from beneath your door though the house was quiet. You wondered if Bucky had left it on and got up to turn it off. You opened your door, dragging your feet across the floor groggily. You were surprised to find your housemate in the kitchen, staring at the wall. It was almost as if he was in a trance.

You neared him quietly, no reaction to your approach. His blue eyes were looking at something you could not see a thousand miles away. It was like he wasn’t there. As if you weren’t there. You calmly reached out, laying your hand on his arm and whispered his name.

“Hmmm!” He grunted as he jolted, looking at you as he began to shake. His eyes searched yours as if he was confused, trying to figure out an unanswerable riddle.

“Bucky,” You kept your voice soft, “Shhh, please, just calm down.” You could feel him trembling still, “James,” You said as your took his hand in your, “I’m here. You’re not alone. You’re here with me.”

He stopped shaking the moment you had said his real name, his eyes met yours and turned glossy with tears. He squeezed your hand before releasing it, leaning against the counter with a sigh. A sigh of exhaustion; of fear; embarrassment; relief.

“I c-couldn’t sleep,” He said, “I came out here to get a drink and I don’t know. I sat down and just kinda started thinking…”

You had seen it before. In your mother. In yourself. But he was worse. He had more to mourn. An entire lifetime lost and a whole other still before him.

“Do you want some tea?” You asked soothingly, channeling your mother, “With lemon? I saw one hiding in the fridge.”

His brow creased as he watched you, trying to read you. As if your offer of comfort was mocking.

“You know, you don’t have to stay here,” He hung his head as if too ashamed to look at her, “All I’ve done. All I’ve taken from you. Why should the life I’ve lived rob you of yours? You have a mother waiting for you, a world at your fingertips. You’re smart enough to be something, Y/N, more than goat farmer.”

“James, I’ve told you before, if I didn’t want to be here I wouldn’t,” You leaned on the counter next to him, trying to make him look at you, “I’m not the follower everyone thinks I am. I’m not the spinster wiling away her life in the museum or the good girl that does everything she’s told. I have a mind of my own and I don’t live for those around me. I live for me…and you gave me the chance to do that.

“When you left, I was mad but I wasn’t stupid. I knew you had to but I was selfish…I left my friends behind in university. I was too busy to have a life. I was just like you, spending my time staring at the wall in that museum, just in a different way.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” He finally looked at you, “I only…I’m tired of being a burden. Of having handlers. I know Steve’s my friend but sometimes he treats me like a child. I lost my innocence long ago and it’s long overdue I face my guilt.”

“We cannot outrun the past, it always finds us for those who don’t learn from it, repeat it,” You muttered that old cliche, “It’s cheesy but true. And all we can do is take it one day at a time, so what do you say to the tea? Because now that I’ve really thought of it, I have to have it.”

* * *

“Hey, I have a movie I know you’ve seen,” You teased as you set down the mugs on the coffee table on either side of your laptop.

You had forced Bucky from the kitchen as the kettle boiled and retrieved your laptop from your tote. Seeing as you had lost the last ounce of your drowsiness, it would be best to keep both of you distracted. You sat beside him on the couch and searched through your catalog of films.

“Or should I say picture?” You corrected yourself.

“I haven’t seen a picture since 1942,” He muttered, “But I’m sure you’ve got something just for me.”

“Fred Astaire, Ginger Rogers, 1933. One of the greatest musicals ever; Swing Time,” You announced proudly, double-clicking the icon.

“Oh god, you really are an eager beaver,” He groaned.

“But you  _have_ seen it,” You insisted.

“Yes,” He answered reluctantly, “Not that I can remember it well.”

“Then it will be like the first time all over,” You chided, “I love musicals!”

“No, really?” He asked sarcastically.

“Are you going to drink that tea or should I dump it in your lap?” You threatened wryly as the intro began to chime.

“You act as if a woman’s never dumped her drink on me,” He took his mug in an effort to hide his grin, sipping it as he looked away slyly, “Let’s just watch this and get it over with.”

You smiled triumphantly and curled your legs up under you, ready for the late night showing. Your shoulder was touching Bucky’s as you settled in but you didn’t let the thought linger. It was one of your favourite films and you hadn’t met many who had even heard of it; even if Bucky wasn’t the most avid viewer.

You sipped your tea until it was cold and bitter, setting the cup down before you. As always, you were enraptured by Astaire’s dancing and watched intently, almost forgetting the man beside you. You didn’t even notice how little complaint he made once the film had begun.

You felt yourself slipping but merely sunk deeper into the couch, your head lolling as your eyes felt itchy. You couldn’t remember when you drifted off but the music had lulled you to sleep. The plot melded with your dreams and the line between reality and your mind blurred.

When you awoke, you were slumped against Bucky, his snores filling the room. He was warm and it was difficult to pull away from him. You sat up carefully and yawned. The windows were gleaming with morning light and you couldn’t bring yourself to snuggle against Bucky knowingly. That would be weird; inappropriate even.

Instead, you would surprise him by feeding the goats before he woke.


	20. Chapter 20

You had been out in the sun a bit too long. Your lips were chapped and you had a slight burn on your arms. You had been negligent in your UV protection and you were paying for it. And your muscles. Your body was still attuning to the change in labour; from nearly no physical effort to hours on end.

Staring at Bucky, who was in turn staring at his laptop, you were almost jealous. You’d almost rather his super soldier conditioning than the ability to understand modern technology. Maybe he felt the same way about you for he was looking at the computer with a mixture of frustration and helplessness.

“I guess you were more the muscle than the brains,” You said as you stood beside him, “Don’t worry, it’s habit more than true skill. Once you get the jist, it’s easy.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying…Shuri talking about goggling everything and this thing doesn’t have any goggles,” He waved at the screen exasperated, “Even Steve, he says it’s not hard but he’s got his whole team or whoever to help him.”

“And now you have me,” You leaned over, using the touch pad to click on the chat icon, “And it’s Google, not Goggle, but that’s a lesson for another time.”

“Even the phones today,” Bucky continued his elderly rant, “You know, when they were taking me out every few years, they could’ve updated more than my physiology.”

“Do you have a phone?” You ventured curiously.

“I did,” He looked away guiltily, “It’s in the drawer in the coffee table.”

“Okay, we’ll wait for this to sign you in and I’ll get the phone.”

You left him, hoping you wouldn’t come back to a black screen, or worse, blue. You went into the living room and opened the shallow drawer of the table. The phone wasn’t hard to find and you almost sighed as you retrieved it. The screen was cracked and the device caput.

“Well,” You went back to the kitchen and held up the phone with a sardonic smile, “I can tell why it’s useless to you.”

“I may have thrown it in anger,” He mumbled, “It’s fine. I don’t need it…The thingy changed.”

He pointed to the screen and you approached, his only contact highlighted green. Steve was online as promised and you were relieved that all had gone smoothly. You clicked on the camera icon and waited as it dialed.

“You should be good,” You gave him the most stunted thumbs up, unsure of where the gesture had come from. You turned your hand into a fist and lowered it as Steve’s face appeared on the screen.

“Hey,” Steve greeted, “Finally, it works,” He chimed and you looked to Bucky who had a sour grimace, “Thanks, Y/N. It’s taken ages for him to figure it out.”

“I just don’t like talking to computers,” Bucky moaned, “It’s weird.”

“It’s the future,” You teased but only Steve laughed.

“It’s nice to see you two are getting on,” Steve said, “And Y/N, I’ll be back at the end of the week to check in.”

“Alrighty,” You nearly sang; what was it about these two that made you revert to your teenage years? “You two, have fun. I’ve got to call my mom before she sends a search party.”

You made your exit before you could make any more a fool of yourself or start rambling. Steve began to talk but you could sense Bucky’s reluctance. He was as stubborn as the goats in the barn. You left your door slightly ajar in case he ended up calling for technical support and brought your mother’s icon up on facetime.

You sat on your bed, leaning against the pillows as you rested your hand on your bent knee. It astounded you to think your mom was more technologically sound than Bucky. You waited for her to answer, though it took three tries to get through. You knew she was upset with you; receiving only a few vague texts and short phone calls to placate her.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my runaway daughter,” She greeted, “I was just hoping you’d call so I could figure out what to do with all these books hanging around my house.”

“Mom, I’m sorry. It’s been a long week…more than,” You looked away guiltily, “Eventful, to say the least.”

She stared at you through the phone, her motherly veneer turning from disapproval to love. “I miss you, hun.” She softened and finally smiled, her wrinkles showing along her lips and forehead, “I never did hear how the conference went.”

“It was great. I met the King of Wakanda…and his sister,” You grinned despite yourself, “I managed to present my paper without stuttering and I even made some friends.”

“Wonderful,” Your mother said, “I knew you’d do well. You always do. You are  _my_ daughter.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You chuckled at her joke, “I miss you too, mom.”

“You better well miss me. Leaving me here for so long and what do you tell me, hmmm? You extended your trip? Why exactly?”

“Well, um, it’s a bit of a long story,” You gave a nervous laugh, “You know, I’ve lately had a habit of wandering into chaos.”

“Oh yes, I do recall that little run-in with the CIA you told me off,” She shook her head, “I always bragged that I had such a responsible daughter but maybe I spoke too soon. Albeit, at this point in their lives, most people have gotten past their rebellious streak,”

“It’s not…that. Look, I–”

“Hey,” Bucky gave a short knock as he nudged open your door, “Steve had to go…duty calls.”

“Who’s that?” Your mom asked from your phone speaker.

“Nobody,” You held her close to her chest, smiling at Bucky, “Just a minute.”

“Hun, I do so love to stare at your cleavage but I’d love more to know who you’re talking to,” The anger was returning to her voice and this time you could tell she was serious.

“Mom, please,” You lifted the phone as Bucky watched concerned from the doorway, “Now isn’t the time.”

“I think after more than week, it’s well past time,” She demanded, “I swear on your head, I will take the next flight out to Wakanda.”

You looked to Bucky with wide eyes and sighed, waving him over as you turned to sit with your feet on the floor. He sat beside you and you turned your phone so you were both in frame.

“Mom, this is Bucky. I’m helping him on his farm for a while. He’s a friend,” You said hurriedly, “Bucky, this is my mom. Okay, you two have met. You may go.”

“Don’t you go anywhere, young man,” Your mom said before Bucky could stand, “Hello,” She smiled at him, “You don’t look very Wakandan to me.”

“Mom, that’s not..appropriate.”

“Well, he doesn’t. He’s as pasty as a stick of chalk, though not unattractive.”

“That’s enough,” You stood and walked out before Bucky could here her descent into the lewd, “Look, Mom, we’ve had this talk. Leaving the museum was difficult and I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Especially holding onto my stuff while I’m away but I just…I’m trying to start over and I need to do the things I was too afraid to do when I was young.”

“You’re still young, missy,” She reprimanded, “Besides, I can’t blame you for doing certain things.”

“It’s not like that, mom, he’s a friend,” You curtailed her before she could redirect, “I love you. I always will but I’m tired and I have to go.”

“Let me get a full look at him,” Your mother pleaded, “Is he fit?”

You hung up after the last question and nearly tossed your phone. That would have been too much like Bucky and so you locked it and set it down on the coffee table.

“You’re mom doesn’t think I’m old,” Bucky emerged from your bedroom, though you were sure he had heard everything your mother had spewed.

“Don’t,” You warned, “I don’t have the energy tonight."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mentions of abuse

Another day passed and you were starting to adjust to life on the farm. The work was becoming habit and easier. You fell into routine as easily as ever; morning coffee, feed the goats, clean the yard, milk the goats, garden, etc. The farm may have been desolate but it had no lack of activity.

You cooked dinner that night. Bucky had brought in some fresh vegetables from the garden and you baked chicken breasts in a medley of spices. He had also gathered some berries but you would save those for a special dessert the next day. For too long, you had lacked enough time to cook and you were falling in love with the quaint pasttime.

As you ate, you couldn’t help but notice the bags under Bucky’s eyes. He always looked tired but since your arrival, you had found the circles darker than they had been. In the museum, he had looked lost, restless, and tormented, but you could sense the difference in him.

You had only seen him sleep periodically since you arrived. Your first night, he had slept on the couch, deeply it seemed. But that third night when you had found him in the kitchen, he must have been awake for hours. He was more often awake before you, which was a feat in itself.

Even so, you didn’t mention it. Maybe it was the sunlight or the work. You didn’t want to make assumptions  You cleared the plates and washed the dishes, excusing yourself shortly after dinner for a shower and bed. You were starting to sleep earlier and earlier.

You had never fallen asleep so easily. Wakanda had an ease to it. It made you feel as if all that had come before was from another lifetime. A nightmare. It was almost like a rebirth. Therapeutic even.

It must have only been an hour before you awoke. So deep had you been sleeping that the disturbance had set your heart racing. Clomping and bleating sounded from another room and set you on edge. Bucky locked Oscar out earlier but the goat often found his way in during the night.

You grumbled as you dragged yourself from your mattress. The nights were cooler and the warmth of your bed intoxicating. You tottered to your door, taking your phone from its charger before venturing into the dark. You used the light of the screen to weave past the furniture, the floor creaking as you entered the kitchen. Bucky’s door was half open and you could hear Oscar running wild within. You could also hear the faint whimpers of Bucky.

You neared the door cautiously, hesitant to intrude. You had always hated trespassing upon others’ privacy. The room was dark and you shone your phone inside. Oscar was at the foot of the bed pacing; he was panicked, walking from one end of the footboard to the other. It was as if he didn’t know what to do.

“Oscar,” You reached out to him and he stilled, sniffing your hand before leaping on the bed.

You turned the light to the bed where Bucky laid on his back, his lips moving in and endless stream of muttering. You couldn’t understand him but he wavered between angry and afraid. You crept to his side of the bed, Oscar standing across from you. You sat on the edge, placing your hand on Bucky’s shoulder.

“Bucky, Bucky,” You whispered but he couldn’t hear you over his murmuring.

You leaned over slightly and repeated his name. His eyes shot open in the light of your cell phone and you felt his hand at your throat. He was choking you and you reached up to grab at his fingers.

“James.” You rasped through his grip.

“Y/N,” He let go of you, covering his face with his hand. Your phone set ghostly shadows over him, “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He unshielded his eyes and sat up, reaching out hesitantly as he peered into your eyes. You looked back calmly, knowing it hadn’t been him. When he had first opened his eyes, you could tell he had been somewhere else.

“I swear I didn’t mean to,” He pleaded as he searched your face as you looked back calmly, “You’re not…afraid of me?”

“You are not scary,” You said softly, “Whatever they did to you is.”

“It wasn’t me,” He uttered, “I was dreaming but I didn’t know I was. I thought…I thought…”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” You hushed, “Not if you don’t want to.”

“Why are you still here?” He asked grimly, “With me? Am I that pitiful?”

“I don’t feel sympathy for you, James,” You replied, “But I do feel empathy for you. All the empathy that others have deprived you of.”

He looked down ashamed, his hand shaking in his lap.

“I can’t say I can relate to what you been through,” You spoke quietly as if to soothe him, “But I recognized that look in your eyes the other day. When you sat in the kitchen; so tired but restless. Nothing you do can calm your mind enough to doze and yet, when it finally comes, it is painful.

“There was a time when the days and nights made little sense to me…” You inhaled, bracing yourself as you rummaged through the memories. “Obviously I’m not the most outgoing person. I know who I am and I know why I am that person, but not many others do.”

You blinked, uncertain and yet compelled to carry on. As much for you as for him.

“My mother married a man when I was in high school who turned out to be less of a fantasy than she thought. To put it bluntly, he was mean and violent. He hated me because he wanted to control her but when he tried to hurt me, she put herself between us.

“One night, I was sick and my mom went to get me more soup. I had stayed home from school and my step-father wasn’t happy about that. When she was gone, he came raging into my room, yelling at me for being lazy. I could barely speak but I told him to fuck off. He dragged me out of my bed by my hair, calling me ungrateful and threatening to throw me on the street.

“He had me halfway out the front door when my mother returned. His hand was around my neck and I thought I was going to pass out. My mother tried to pull him off but she wasn’t strong enough. The only thing I could do was knee him where I knew it would hurt most.

“When he let me go, my mom shoved him away and got me inside and locked us in. He had broken a window by the time the police arrived and he was arrested. The penal system is a farce and he was out on bail in a day. He had to pay a fine and was set free.

“My mother divorced him but that didn’t end it. He stalked both of us and eventually we moved away. We left behind everything. My mom had to start over…a lot like I’m doing now.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” Bucky whispered.

“I didn’t tell you because I want you to be sorry,” You said, placing your hand atop his, stilling his trembling, “I told you so that maybe one day you’ll be able to tell your story because the more you run from it, the more it catches up to you.”

You pulled away from him and stood up, clearing your throat. “Now, since I’m fairly certain I won’t be sleeping anytime soon, I could go for a tea. You?”


	22. Chapter 22

_“You looking forward to seeing Steve again?” You asked, breaking the tension which had overcome Bucky since he had ended yet another chat with his oldest friend.  
_

You had been in the kitchen, baking the berries into a tart and so you hadn’t caught much of the conversation taking place in the next room. All you knew was that Bucky had emerged less than happy and sat moping at the kitchen island as you placed the dessert in the oven. You wiped your hands on the unused apron you had found in the closet and stood across from him.

“So?” He still hadn’t answered your question. You weren’t even sure he had heard you.

“I don’t know,” He shrugged like a petulant child, “I guess…I just hate how he drops in whenever he thinks it good for him. The great Captain America gets whatever he wants.”

“Look, I might be a little ignorant on the matter but I believe he’s as much a fugitive as you,” You said, taking a cloth and wiping the flour and scraps from the counter. You had made more a mess than you thought.

“Maybe, but…I don’t know, okay?” Bucky sighed, “Maybe I should be happy to see him. No doubt he’ll bring that princess with him; you should be more than ecstatic about that.”

“Shuri’s a nice girl,” You stopped your cleaning, screwing up your face, “Are you going to be like this all night?”

“Like what?” He grumbled.

“Oh, I don’t know but I think if I were to serve you a slice of pie you would just as soon spit it out,” You chided, “What happened? What did Steve say that’s got you so riled up?”

“Nothing,” He lied, tapping his fingers on the lip of the counter as he stared at you. You knew you wouldn’t get a straight answer out of him, “You’ve got some–” He touched his cheekbone, “Right there.”

“Hmm?” You reached up to wipe away the unnoticed smear only to elicit an unexpected chuckle from Bucky. His mood lightened as he forgot his argument from moments earlier and watched you spread flour across your face.

“Well, now it’s all–” He gestured to his whole face, “All over.”

“That was a mean trick,” You wiped your face with the tails of your apron, realizing you had been set up, “There wasn’t anything on my cheek.”

“No, I just didn’t want to talk about Steve anymore,” He grinned.

“Neither do I,” You relented, “We’ll deal with that tomorrow.”

You rinsed your hands before wiping the sweat from your brow. The kitchen was growing warm from the heat of the oven and it was adding to your irritation. You took the stool across from Bucky and looked at him expectantly.

“Well, why are you bothering me now? Can’t you see I’m trying to bake?”

“Trying is the proper word,” He joked, “And right now, you’re preferable company to the goats.”

“Okay,” You pressed your lips together, “Should I thank you for that compliment or…”

“I actually was hoping you had a moment,” He began, his eyes evasive as his voice grew uncertain, “I wanted to show you something.”

“I’ve got a few minutes,” You checked the time on your phone, “That tart’s got some minutes to go.”

“Alright,” He slapped the counter top awkwardly, pushing himself to his feet, “I’ll, uh, be right back.”

You watched as he marched over to his bedroom, listening as he scrambled around within. You were growing used to his mercurial moods. You could understand them now. He was overworked and overtired. And it had been quite some time since he had lived with another person.

“Right here,” He announced as he reappeared, a notebook in his hand, “It’s uh…well,” He paused and looked at the bent corner of the cover and the pages which were already wearing, “I’ve, um, uh…” He seemed to be grasping for words, suddenly intimidated by the journal.

You waited patiently as he struggled to collect himself. He had dissipated from pride to shame in seconds. You could see the doubt wrinkling his brow and he set the book down on the counter as if it would bite him.

“I started keeping this journal when I first got here,” His voice was quiet, “I thought it would help to write down the memories when they came. It helped, at least when I couldn’t sleep. It gave me something to do.” He placed his hand over the book protectively, “I remembered that war album you had and I thought maybe, that soldier who had kept it, kept it because he wanted to carry his memories even after they were gone. Even the bad ones.”

“Well, I never thought of it like that,” You replied, “But I suppose you’re right. And I think it’s a great idea to keep a journal.”

“I wanted–wanted you to look at it,” He pushed it towards you, his hand lingering before he rescinded it, “After last night, I thought, maybe you were right about talking about it. I think I’m still a far way from that but this is the best I can do for now.”

“Bucky, you don’t have to…”

“I wouldn’t if I didn’t want to,” He reached out and flipped through the journal, stopping at a marked page, “Please.”

You took the journal with a sense of reverence, keeping it open to the page he had selected. You looked to the writing which filled its margins; the same slanted scrawl which had marked his letter to you. It took a moment for your eyes to focus, the heat of his stare making the task all the more difficult.

_‘I thought it was over then. Truly over. I had returned to that cage which had held me for decades. Trapped inside my own body as another controlled it. Those moments of lucidity in which I realized what crimes my hands had committed. Awaking during a nightmare which turned out to be reality._

_The man had pulled me back so easily. To know that words had all the power over me; that I could so quickly revert to the monster I was. The monster I still am. I know it’s still inside of me and I don’t know if it will ever leave me for good._

_Without thought, I had struck out. Bulldozed my way out of the room; mechanical, dutiful, emotionless. But I could still see. Me. Bucky. Even as my body was used as a puppet, I could still see. Clearly, this time. And I was fighting against it._

_I thought of Y/N and the museum. The maps which recounted my own memories. The room which reminded me of days lost. Before, I wouldn’t have remembered. My mission would have been my singular thought; Bucky would be gone and the Winter Soldier in his place._

_And Steve. He saved me from losing what I had found. He kept me from losing myself again._

_This time was different because I wasn’t afraid. I was powerless but I didn’t give in, because I knew I wasn’t alone. I had a reason to fight. I had myself back and I didn’t want to disappear again.’_

You closed the journal as you finished reading the passage, a bittersweet smile on your lips. You held out the book to Bucky and he took it silently as if afraid of you. You stood and rounded the island without a word. You wrapped your arms around his middle and hugged him. You had never been one for hugs but you needed it as much as him.

“Thank you,” You said into his chest as he rested his hand on your back, the book pressed against your spine, “You didn’t have to, you know?”

You pulled away from him as your phone began to ring. The tart was done. You crossed to the oven and took the mitts from beside it. You opened the door and removed the fragrant pie. You set it on the counter and turned back to Bucky.

“I know I didn’t have to,” He adjusted his grip on the journal, “But I wanted to…before you leave. I wanted you to know how grateful I am for everything.” He exhaled, his eyes diverting as the screen door shook, “Well,” He shook his head at Oscar’s nose pressed against the mesh, “I think it’s feeding time.”


	23. Chapter 23

You had excused yourself after breakfast. So enthralled by your unending thoughts that you couldn’t sit and drink another ounce of coffee. That morning had been tense; quiet. 

Bucky had resumed the frustration which had overcome after his conversation with Steve the day before. He had barely said anything as you ate and you needed to escape suffocating silence Steve would be back that day and you were due to leave. The realization had set a weight in your chest and you had spent most of the night awake.

You wanted to explore before you said goodbye. You hadn’t done more than chase after the goats during your stay in Wakanda and you would hate to return home without basking in the splendour of the land.

You had set off outside the fence, walking towards the cluster of trees at the edge of the farmland. The trunks were thick and crowded. The leaves a cluster of greens; jade, emerald, and viridian. You could hear the symphony of animals within; the song of birds, the chatter of critters, and the rustle of those predators hidden in the shadows.

You mindlessly followed the path overgrown with roots and fallen vines. You took in every inch of jungle, having left your phone behind for the sake of the moment. You didn’t want pictures, you wanted to remember it. You leaned against a tree, crossing your arms with a heavy sigh.

You thought of returning home. Of going back the life you had left behind. There hadn’t been much of one and all desire to return to the museum had dwindled away. You were tired of being the mousy curator; the bookish nerd. 

In the last week, you had met so many who had spent their lives being brave and all despite their fears. At times, against their will. You had lived less of a life than even Oscar. Here, you were detached from civilization but you didn’t feel so lost.

You didn’t want to continue on in recounting the span of history which you would never be a part of.  _Was it not human instinct to want to change the turning of the earth? To leave your footprint in the sands of time?_  All you had done was hide behind books.

But you had to go. You weren’t like Bucky or Steve; you weren’t strong. Nor were you like T’Challa or Shuri; chosen to lead. You were the one who told their stories; who futilely dreamed of being like them. You would go home, sit at your desk, and once more become the scribe.

_Who had ever said the pen was mightier than the sword?_

You knew you could not brood in the forest all day. Even though you had spent your night packing, you still had much to do. You had to say goodbye to Bucky  _but how?_  The week had gone so quickly and it felt as if you were being torn apart.

You reached into your pocket and pulled out the letter he had written you when he had only been James.

_‘To you I owe my life; what I have left of it anyways.’_

It felt now as if you were beholden to him. You lacked purpose after you had left the museum and he had returned it to you. Even if it was only minding goats and digging in the dirt, it had awoken you from the obscurity which had come before. To go back only meant to lose all you had gained. You didn’t want to start over again. Not so soon.

You folded up the letter and pushed yourself from the tree. You dragged your feet back the way you had come, trying to hide the melancholy which had come over you. You wanted to leave Bucky with a smile, not tears. He had enough grief in his life.

* * *

As you reached the farm, you saw two vehicles waiting outside the house. You had been gone longer than you planned. You kicked the dirt off your boots at the foot of the door and entered without fanfare. T’Challa and Steve sat on the couch talking, Shuri in the chair enthralled in her phone. Bucky was nowhere to be seen.

“Uh, hey,” You greeted awkwardly, “Where’s Bucky?”

“He yelled at a goat and stormed out,” T’Challa shrugged.

“He’s probably fighting it right now,” Shuri chuckled, tucking her phone away as she stood, “More importantly, where have  _you_  been?”

“I went for a walk,” You answered flatly, “I figured it was my last chance before I go.”

“Well, thank Wakanda you’re back,” Shuri said, “The broken white boy is in quite a mood today. I thought he had chased you away.”

“No, not exactly.”

“He’s mad at me,” Steve chimed in, “He has been since we talked yesterday… Sometimes, you can’t tell him what’s good for him.”

“Oh,” It explained the night before, though you wondered what exactly had set Bucky off.

“In Wakanda, we say what we mean,” T’Challa added, “Not like you. Too stubborn to say what’s in your heart.”

“Okay?” You were slightly confused but didn’t have much patience for any of it. You hated when you were suppose to leave; you grew impatient even when you didn’t want to go.

“Goddamn, Oscar!” The screen door slammed and Bucky entered from the kitchen, “Do Wakandans eat goat because I have one I’d happily send to slaughter.”

His knees and shirt were grass-stained and mud streaked his clothing. His hair was messy with sweat and he looked ready to fight someone. You had never seen him so riled and Steve stood, approaching his old friend.

“Buck, calm down,” He seemed afraid, as if he would have to fight his old friend, “It’s just a goat.”

“Ugh, would you stop telling me what to do?” He shoved Steve, “I’m tired of being treated like a child.”

“Look, you don’t have to take my advice, you seem just fine doing your own thing but don’t take your cowardice out on me,” Steve returned, “I don’t think you want to have this argument here.”

Bucky frowned as he glanced over Steve’s shoulder, blanching as he caught sight of you. A slight flush came to his cheeks and he attempted a weak smile.

“You make your own decisions, Buck,” Steve clapped his shoulder, “And you live with the consequences. You best get used to it.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and shook his head, turning sharply as he stomped back into the kitchen. Steve followed and it wasn’t long before you heard there voices start to rise again.

“It’s your fault.”

“Buck.”

“No, I told you I wasn’t ready.”

“Please.”

“I can’t. I just can’t.”

“You don’t have to.”

“You don’t understand though…”

“Really, it’s okay, Buck. It’s not forever.”

“Not everything turns out. I’m not you, Steve. Nothing ever turns out for me.”

“This isn’t about me, Buck. You’re not mad at me, you’re mad at yourself and only you can fix this. I’m done arguing and we’re due to leave in the next hour, so you best sort this out.”

Steve reappeared and you had never expected the golden super soldier to look so distraught. He stopped by the door, just beside you, turning to you with restrained irritation, “When you get a chance, I’d like to talk to you.”

He pulled the door open and snapped it shut behind him, leaving the room in a ghastly silence. All were stunned by the spat but none knew what to say. Bucky huffed as he stood the doorway, his anger dissipating as he looked to you, guilt softening his features. T’Challa and Shuri stared at him but averted their eyes before he could glare at them.

His lips parted as his fingers twitched and he swallowed the words he could not find. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, his blue eyes flashing as his jaw tensed. He seemed to resign himself to some grim fate and finally spoke.

“Y/N, would you help me feed the goats?”

“Um, sure,” You were confused. T’Challa and Shuri were now staring at you and you felt as if you were missing some obvious clue.

You followed Bucky into the kitchen and out into the yard. In the barn, the goats were already chewing oats from the trough and you flinched in bewilderment. 

“You already–?”

“Look, Y/N, I…I’m sorry I’ve been an ass today. And yesterday. I’ve just been–” He began to pace, his face contorted as he chose his words carefully, “Seventy-five years ago, I was the smoothest guy on the block but being frozen for the better part of the century has really fucked me up.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine,” He was frustrated, sliding to a halt before you, “It’s not fine because after being brainwashed to not be afraid for so long, I’m terrified of everything. And it makes me act like a complete idiot.”

You watched him calmly, realizing he was trying to understand his thoughts as he spoke them. He needed to vent and you needed to listen. It was your last favour to him before your departure.

“Steve’s right. I should get over myself. You’re leaving today and, if I’m being honest, I don’t want you to leave, but I don’t want you to stay because you feel sorry for me. You’ve done so much already and…well, I’m going to ask, even if the answer is no, I have to.”

He nodded, as if to encourage himself before he continued. He stilled his fidgeting and looked you in the eyes, ignoring the teeth chewing at the hem of his pants as Oscar found his usual timing. 

“I know you have a home waiting for you but would you stay? Just a little longer? A week?”

You cocked your head with surprise. You hadn’t expected that. You had thought of staying, wished for it even, but that was just hopeful thinking. You were silent as you processed the question. 

You thought of your mom and the next tense call you would make to her but the answer was clear. Bucky looked back at you anxiously, his expression grim as if you had already said no.

“Yes,” You said, “Of course.”

“What?” He sounded as shocked as you felt.

“Yeah,” You gave a nervous chuckle, “I haven’t that much to return to and whatever comes next can wait.”

“Oh…” His eyes widened as he thought, his lips trembling between joy and disbelief, “Well, um, thanks.” His brows lowered all too suddenly as he was struck with an epiphany, “Fuck. I gotta apologize to Steve now.”


	24. Chapter 24

“Let me talk to him first,” You placated Bucky, “He said he wanted a word, anyhow. It’ll give both of you a chance to cool down.”

“He wanted to talk to _you_?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

“I don’t know why, so don’t ask,” You raised your hands, “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” He tucked his hand into his pants pocket, the anxiety highlighting the vein in his forehead, “Nothing…”

“Enough of your brooding. I thought we’d left that back in the museum.”

“Go on,” He shrugged you off, failing to hide his dread, “I’m just going to stay here…I could go without the company of the royal siblings.”

“Alright,” You said, making for the door, “Just try not to kill Oscar.”

“Kill him?” He looked down at the goat nipping at his ankles, “He’s not that bad.”

He knelt to pet the goat and you shook your head. One minute, they were each other’s worst enemies the next, best friends. You left them and made your way through the gate to the front of the house. Steve stood with arms crossed, leaned against the hood of one of the cars.

“Hey,” You greeted him; his eyes were pensive above his thickening beard, “You wanted to talk?”

“I did,” He smiled, though it was weak. As you got closer, he seemed to read you, “You talked to Bucky.”

“Yes,” You confirmed, “He asked me to stay.”

“And?” His face seemed to brighten.

“I am, for now,” You said, “But…he didn’t want to ask me, did he?”

“We were fighting over that but not because he doesn’t want you to,” His tone was much lighter, “He was too afraid to, but please don’t tell him I said that.”

“I won’t.”

“To be honest, I’m happy you’re staying. He needs you here. I don’t think he fully realizes it himself, only that he likes having someone here.” Steve pushed himself from against the car, “He’s come a long way since you arrived. He’s almost the same kid I met back in Brooklyn.”

“He’s trying,” You offered, “He’s fighting with his memories. Understanding them.”

“But not alone,” Steve returned, “I didn’t want to leave him by himself. Didn’t want to risk losing him again but I knew it was too dangerous. I check in as often as I can but it’s not enough. I know that. It was wrong of me to abandon him like that but I tried to make sure he had friends; T’Challa, Shuri.

“I want to thank you for staying. Even just this past week has made all the difference.” Steve sighed happily, “You’ve made all the difference, Y/N. I owe you everything because you’ve given me back my best friend. You don’t understand what it’s like to be stuck in a time that’s not your own.”

You kept silent, realizing he was venting to you as much as Bucky had only nights before. You didn’t need to say anything; only listen.

“But there is something else. Since you are staying,” He blinked as if bracing himself, “As much improvement as he’s made, Bucky is still recovering. I don’t want to scare you but if anything happens or you need anything, even just a question, I want you to call me.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a folded square of paper, “My number’s in there. If I don’t answer, you can call Shuri or T’Challa, of course.”

“Thank you,” You took the paper hesitantly, “I appreciate the gesture, but I don’t think I’ll be needing this.”

“If  _anything_  happens,” He stressed, “I’m not just talking about Bucky. He might not be the Winter Soldier anymore but other people don’t know that. He still has enemies and there’s always the possibility they could find him. Even here.”

You nodded and flicked the corner of the paper with your fingernail. The gravity of what he was warning of sunk in and you gulped. Your decision was becoming all the more clear. Consequences you had not even considered struck you. But in the back of your mind, you had known what you were saying yes to.

The front door swung open and closed behind you, Shuri nearly skipping down the steps.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” She slid to a stop in the dirt beside you, glancing between you and Steve. “Gee, you sure have a way with these super soldiers.”

“Not at all,” Steve answered precariously, “I’ve gotta find Buck anyhow. We should be heading out soon.”

Steve sidestepped Shuri and continued to the front door; his exit as swift as her entrance. You turned to the young princess with a curious smile. The years between you did little to diminish your affinity for her. She was almost like a little sister, endearing yet irritating.

“So, you’re staying.”

“How’d you know?” You asked.

“Well, I knew the broken white boy wasn’t going to let you go so easy.” She grinned.

“Oh, and you know him so well?”

“I do actually,” Her expression hardened and her usual cheerful demeanour cooled, “When he arrived in Wakanda, he was on a table in my laboratory. I make jokes but he’s not really broken, only scarred. My brother was asking me to fix the man he had once thought to have killed our father. I know he’s done worse things, but not truly. He was a shell; a puppet used by villains.

“I did what I could to reverse Hydra’s work and I rectified those more crucial side effects; I gave him his control back but we are all more than just our bodies. The mind is not so easily repaired. The intangible cannot be tinkered with.”

She paused, almost embarrassed by her moment of sincerity. This girl who had lost her father had every right to avoid the grim.

“But you’ve done more than I could. I see the change…I’ll have to think of a new nickname for him,” She smiled once more, “Shaggy? War Games? Or maybe I’ll stick with Goat Boy. He really likes that one.”

“I’m sure he’d love every one of those,” You replied sardonically, “But maybe give him a break. Just for today? It’s been a long one.”

“Fine…” She agreed reluctantly, “But just for today.”


	25. Chapter 25

You had slept better after deciding to stay. You were thankful that you did not have to spend a day travelling to a pointless destination. Most of all, you were relieved not to have to say goodbye. In the week you had spent in Wakanda, you had grown attached to the quaint farmstead. And Bucky.

That morning, you could not help but think of your conversation with Steve. This life was too good to be true and you understood better Bucky’s fear of loss. He knew all too well how easily it could all be gone. If the time came, you wanted to be able to help in a fight. You were tired of being a bystander.

Bucky had left you shortly after breakfast to tend to the goats. You knew it was because he sensed your contemplation. Your struggle to solve a problem entirely foreign to you. You had withdrawn into yourself, biting your nails anxiously. As you had allowed him his space, he was biding yours.

You took out your phone, staring at the list of contacts. Your thumb hovered over a single name, the screen turning black as you hesitated. You unlocked it and forced yourself to press down. You set the phone on the counter, putting it on speaker as you stood. You were too restless to sit still. You were tired of asking for help but you needed it. This would be the last time you would.

“Ay, Y/N,” Shuri sang in her silky accent, “Finally, you’re calling. You’re a lousy friend.”

“Shuri,” You sighed, forcing your hands to your side before you could begin to wring them, “Look, I know I suck at the whole communication thing but I’m not calling to banter.”

“Really? I do so appreciate a sick bantz,” She kidded with a chuckle and you huffed again. “Alright, alright…you’re as tightly wound as Goat Boy these days.”

“Well, this is sort of about him…in a way, I guess,” You began reluctantly. You weren’t quite sure how to say it.

“Oooh, do tell,” She trilled as if you were about to spill some juicy gossip.

“I was talking to Steve yesterday and, well, he said that Bucky still has people after him. That he won’t be here forever, only until the next fight.”

“Oh,” She sounded disappointed, “Well, of course. He’s a super soldier. A bit fucked up in the head but he’s still a war machine.”

“I know, I know,” You hooked your foot through the leg of the stool, leaning on the counter, “But I don’t want him to have to worry about me. If someone were to find him…or us, I suppose, I don’t want to be the reason he’s in danger. I’m not dum, I’d be next to useless in a fight’; a distraction. I’m not important enough to be a liability.”

“First off, Y/N, you stop right there. You are important, okay? Even if Goat Boy is a bit aloof, you are. To me, to him, to everyone. Even Steve. Secondly, if someone does show up, you won’t be alone. Neither of you,” She assured, “We haven’t left you entirely vulnerable.”

“Even so, I should learn, don’t you think…To fight?” It sounded preposterous to you and must’ve been farcical when said aloud. You had never been the most athletic; clumsy even. You weren’t tough, or fierce, or strong. Not to mention your age. “I wasn’t sure who else to ask. I know Steve is busy and I wouldn’t expect him to teach me but I thought maybe you would know someone.”

“Oh, I know a whole team of somebodies,” She said excitedly. “That’s so cute! Oh my god, Y/N. I can’t even imagine you fighting.”

“Shuri, please,” You felt your cheeks burning, “I know it’s ridiculous, but I have to try.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t mean it like that, I just…a librarian who can fight? That’s kinda hot.”

“For the last time,” You snarled, “I’m not a librarian.”

“Hehe,” She couldn’t stifle her giggle, “Well at least you’ve got the right attitude for it. You’ll need that anger.”

“So, you’re going to help?” You asked hopefully.

“Of course I am,” She replied, “But you owe me.”

* * *

With Shuri’s encouragement, you were a bit calmer  In the twenty minutes after the phone call, you had sat and thought on the possibilities. It would be hard but worth it. You might not be any good at fighting but you could try. If it did come to a battle, you’d at least have a semblance of skill. The idea was growing less absurd in your mind.

You forced yourself from the stool, heading through the screen door as you followed the sound of Bucky’s voice. He was just in the yard, sitting on an overturned pale as he stroked Charlotte’s head. She had grown rounder in the last few days and you suspected she was due any day now. He ceased his one-way conversation with her as you approached.

“She’s getting big,” You commented.

“She is,” He agreed, a shadow of dread in his eyes. That was a bridge to be crossed when you got to it. “I heard you talking inside.”

“You did?” You asked nervously.

“I wasn’t eavesdropping, I only heard voices,” He shrugged, “Have you told your mother you’re staying?”

“Yeah, that wasn’t my mom,” You gave a sheepish smile, “But I’ll have to do that tonight. It was Shuri.”

“Shuri?” He quirked his lips.

“I guess there’s little point in keeping it a secret. Hell, you might even be proud of me…that is, if I’m any good,” You were suddenly excited to tell him. You would be able to help when he needed it most;  _how could he be unhappy_? “I’m going to start training.”

“Training?”

“Basic combat,” You announced, “So I can defend myself.”

“Defend yourself from what?” He scoffed.

“I don’t know, but if I ever need to I’ll be able to,” You stuttered. You suddenly felt very naive. “You won’t have to protect me.”

“I  _don’t_  have to protect you. There’s  _nothing_ to protect you from,” He stood with a frown.

“Not yet, but what happens when there’s another fight? I don’t want to be left to wait for the news.”

“You’ll be safe. As impatient as you are, you wouldn’t want to be out there.”

“How do you know what I want?” You challenged, “Do you think I want to go back to the museum? Or hide behind my desk? No one ever fought a war with books. No one’s ever been a hero for writing down another’s deeds.

“I agreed to stay but not to hide. I stayed because here there is possibility. I’m not stuck living a life built of my own cowardice. I know I’ll never be like you, but I can try. Try to fight. For once, I want to do _something_.”

Bucky stared at you. His blue eyes bored into you. Cold flames burned behind them as anger and fear mingled. He chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought, exhaling a drawn out breath to steady himself.

“If this is what you want, I know I can’t stop you. But I can warn you. It’s easy when there are no stakes. When you’re training, there is no fear. In a real fight, there is nothing else. Every thought, every move, every breath is fueled by terror. Whether you live or die, you lose. Every time you march to battle, you leave a part of yourself on the field.

“Right now the decision is easy, but if that day comes and you change your mind, don’t be ashamed. Listen to your gut. Don’t fight because it’s what I have to do, only fight for you.” He hung his head sadly, shaking the hair away from his eyes, “You don’t have to fight.”

“I know,” You said quietly, “But I know that staying here was more than agreeing to clean up goat shit. I knew it was a risk, but it’s one I have to take and I’m lucky that in seventy years, I likely won’t be alive to regret it.”


	26. Chapter 26

Bucky had grown quieter since your conversation. It was as if he had reverted to the stranger who had first stood in your museum. For all the progress Steve and Shuri had claimed you had inspired, it seemed you had tossed it all away. Every sentence was stunted; every word carried with it his distaste.

The next morning was easier. A night’s sleep had quelled his irritation but you could still feel the tension. After downing his coffee swiftly, he excused himself to feed the goats. It wasn’t so unusual but you could tell he was avoiding you; avoiding the argument which he wanted to resume. He may have claimed to accept your decision, but he wasn’t acting like it.

You took a basket out to the garden, gathering those beans and tomatoes which had ripened in the night. The work helped to distract you, the smell of soil and vines soothing. You could hear Bucky as he worked in the barn and the field. It was odd to be so close to someone and feel so far away.

You were lifting the heavy load of veggies as a vehicle whirred in the distance; the dirt grinding beneath its tires as it grew nearer. You turned to watch as Shuri pulled up but Bucky did not cease his work. He was not in the mood for visitors but you longed for anyone else.

“Ay,” Shuri climbed out of her car before removing a large tote from her back seat, “How completely domestic. You and the old man out here tending the land.”

“Shuri,” You greeted her with the usual exasperation.

“Never fear,” She approached with long steps, swinging the bag at her side, “I’m here to rescue you. To get you away from this desolate prison.”

“I didn’t expect you to be back so soon,” You replied; perhaps you weren’t of the mind to receive guests.

“I don’t know how you do it out here; stuck with all these goats,” She looked over to the field where Bucky was pulling at overgrown weeds, “And him.”

“I’ll warn you, I don’t think he’ll be very happy to see you.”

“Oh, but it’s my birthday,” She announced, “He must be happy to see me. Those are the rules.”

“Your birthday?” You echoed. Sometimes it was easy to forget how young she was, “Well, happy birthday. Sorry, I had no idea.”

“I know,” She shrugged, her smile still in place, “Tonight I’m going to celebrate. And you’re coming with me.”

“Oh? And where would we be going?” You frowned.

“In Wakanda, the drinking age is seventeen, so any place that has alcohol,” Her smile turned mischievous, “And you look like you could use a drink or two…and a shower.”

“I don’t know…”

“I’ve got make-up and clothes.” She raised her tote, “Don’t you worry. I’ll make you look ten years younger. No more librarian.”

“I’m–”

“Not a librarian, I know,” She chuckled, “But it never fails.”

* * *

“Oh my, you almost look human again,” Shuri said as you came out in the red dress she had shoved into your chest. Your bedside table was littered with tubes and bottles of cosmetics and she was sorting through them. “Curls or straight?”

“I don’t care,” You sat down on the bed beside her, “Really. I think this is a bit much.”

“It’s never enough,” She replied, picking out a shade of red lipstick that matched your dress, “All the men in Wakanda are gonna fall in love with this exotic foreigner.”

“Ugh, please. I know it’s your birthday but I’m not interested in picking up any men.”

“Oh not just any…” She smiled cryptically as she stood and set aside the lipstick.

“What?”

“Nothing,” She chimed, plugging in her straightener, “Let’s go for a chic look.”

“Shuri…”

“Come on, you need to get off this farm,” She lectured, “I know Goat Boy is so fascinating but really, you need to let loose! I suspect you haven’t done that in years. Maybe ever, judging by your line of work.”

“Hmm,” You narrowed your eyes, “I’d deny that but sadly, you’re right.”

“Alright then,” She smirked, “So be quiet and let the magic begin.”

* * *

You stepped out, feeling like a parody of yourself. The dress was much too short for your age and the back. Well, there wasn’t much of one. You had to admit, Shuri had done well with your hair and make-up but you just weren’t used to it. In the kitchen, you could hear the clink of a mug as it was set on the counter and you suddenly recalled your housemate.

Shuri headed for the kitchen but you stopped her before she could reach the door. “Aren’t we going?”

“Shortly, but we shouldn’t just leave Goat Boy without a word. He’d surely tear the country in half looking for you.”

“Huummm,” You sighed. She spoke as if you were his mother sometimes.

“You seem chipper today,” Shuri burst through the kitchen door before you could argue further as you followed reluctantly.

“Mmm,” Bucky grunted without turning around. He was sat at the counter with his back to the door, a mug of coffee in front of him, “I thought I saw you pull up.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gone shortly.”

“It’ll give you some space,” You offered meekly as you approached the end of the island.

He tore his eyes from his half-empty cup and looked at you. His expression brightening from annoyed to surprised. He blinked rapidly and cleared his throat.  _Did he recognize the curator dressed up in a clown suit?_

“You look…” His eyes searched as he struggled for the end of his sentence, “Nice.”

“She looks amazing,” Shuri approached and neatened your hair, “Pfft, I didn’t spend an two hours doing her up for nice.”

“Where are you going?” He asked, concern shading his features.

“Out. It’s my birthday and I want to party.”

“Don’t you have friends your own age?” He rolled his eyes. “Y/N is twenty years older than you.”

“Twenty?” You whispered to yourself. He was close enough that it stung.

“I’m mature for my age,” Shuri poked his shoulder, “Besides, if she doesn’t get away and do her thing, she’s going to lose her mind.”

His eyes flitted from Shuri to you. He was deep in thought, measuring his words carefully, wrestling with himself.

“I guess you’re right. She’s deserves to have a life outside of this,” He hung his head and sipped from his coffee, “I hope you guys have a great night…and happy birthday, Shuri.”

“You can come with us,” She offered, “Discover the wonders of the twenty-first century.”

“I’m good,” He drained the last of his mug and stood, the stool scraping abruptly across the floor, “Someone’s gotta look after this place.”

* * *

Trying to hold it all together for so long had seen you falling apart after three drinks. Shuri had been right in her own way. You needed to let go; to forget the descent of the last few months. All you had lost, and even that which you had gained. You just needed the release.

Yet alcohol made you super aware. Of yourself and those around you. It set you in the present, no past or future, but your mind didn’t stop. You had kept Shuri from similar overindulgence. She was young and not an experienced drinker. Well, neither were you.

She had called you an Uber, assuring you that despite their isolation Wakanda did have that service. You were relieved and after the driver dropped the princess off, he set off on the long road to your home. You were glad you weren’t footing the bill for this ride.

You were almost drifting off when you pulled up to the farm. The driver bid you good night as you wobbled out of his car and drunkenly slammed the door. You stumbled to the front door as you heard the car reverse and depart into the distance.

You grabbed the door handle, steadying yourself. It was late and deadly silent. You didn’t want to wake Bucky in your inebriation. You didn’t want him to see you this way. He wouldn’t want the sloppy drunk.

You pushed inside, placing one foot in front of the other carefully. You put an arm out to keep yourself from tipping as you closed the door behind you. Slowly, smoothly, like a cat, you crept through the darkened living room.

You entered the kitchen and giggled quietly at your victory. You neared the cupboard and pulled out a glass, setting it on the counter as you opened the fridge. You took the water pitcher and reached for your cup, the back of your hand meeting it before your fingers.

Time seemed to slow as it slid off the edge of the counter and picked back up as it shattered against the tile. It was thunderous to your drunken ears. Your breath went out of you as you froze in the dark and prayed that it hadn’t been that loud.

The light flicking on and assured your worst fears. Bucky looked less groggy than you would have expected, his hair messy but his eyes alert. You smiled at him guiltily, putting down the pitcher and kneeling to gather up the broken glass.

“Don’t,” He ordered, “You’ll cut yourself.” You paused and recoiled from the mess. He neared and pulled a stool out from the island, planting it beside you. “Sit. I’ll get you water and clean this up.”

“Really, you don’t have to,” You stammered before a hiccup forced its way out.

“You’re drunk,” He said pointedly, “I’d rather not have to clean up your blood, too. Please, sit.”

You gulped and followed his command shamefully. He grabbed another glass, setting it before you and filling it from the pitcher. He was shirtless, you realized. You had seen him so before but you were just noticing the lines of his muscles. And his arm. With only one, he was still twice as strong as you.

And with seventy-years of dissociation, he was still smarter than you. Here you were, sitting like a child as he cleaned up your mess. You were not looking forward to the morning. Especially if you remembered this.

“Drink it, it’ll help,” He said. He didn’t look so harsh as he sounded.

You sipped the water as he retrieved the broom and dustpan to clean up the glass. He held the pan with his knee and swept everything up easily. He dumped it in a box and tucked it away beside the garbage bin. He turned to you, leaning against the counter as he watched you finish your drink.

“It’s alright, we’ve all had our nights,” He didn’t sound as perturbed as before. “You just need to sleep it off.”

“Yeah,” You agreed and climbed down off the stool, nearly losing your balance.

Bucky caught your arm and kept you from calamity. You saw him shake his head but it was more amused than annoyed. He guided you to your bedroom and you felt the alcohol settling on your eyelids. That irresistible drowsiness which came with excess was calling to you.

“Come on,” You were sure he could feel the heaviness in your step and the gracelessness of your movements, “Lay on your stomach, okay?”

He helped you onto the bed, though you fell most of the way. You turned onto your stomach as he suggested and hugged the mattress. “Ahhh, this is nice.”

“I know,” He replied, “One second.”

You heard footsteps but were too drunk and tired to look. When he returned, you opened your eyes and a bucket appeared beside your bed. “In case you need to throw up,” He explained and rounded to the other side of the bed. Your eyes were burning and you closed them to ease the fire, a weight settling beside you on the mattress. “I’m gonna keep an eye on you, just in case.”

“I’m fine,” You protested through a yawn.

“Until you roll onto your back and choke,” He sighed and you felt his hand on your back, caressing the exposed skin, “Shh, just sleep.”


	27. Chapter 27

You were holding onto something warm when you awoke. The heat had roused you, along with a faint stabbing at the front of your skull. Your stomach felt empty but not sickly. Your memories were a haze and you couldn’t recall how you had ended up in your bed. Or how you had come to hug Bucky’s leg as he leaned against the headboard.

His hair curtained his face as he slept sitting up, half-slumped over you. He was in nothing but his pajama bottoms, the scars along his shoulder exposed. You carefully unwound your arm from his thigh and rolled onto your back, the corners of your vision seared as sunlight streamed in through the half-open window.

A snort sounded from beside you and the mattress jolted, causing you to groan. Bucky sat up, rubbing his back as he looked down at you. You reached up to touch your forehead feebly. You rarely drank at all, let alone so much. It had been a painful mistake.

“You alright?” He asked softly.

“As alright as I can be,” You rasped, shakily pushing yourself to sitting position, “You...didn’t have to take care of me.” You felt your cheeks flush, “Really. I put myself in this condition. You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s the least I can do for all the times you’ve helped me,” He stood and stretched his arm, “Please, don’t be embarrassed.”

“I can’t even remember getting home,” You cringed, “Tell me I wasn’t that bad.”

“Clumsy, but otherwise harmless,” He assured, approaching your side of the bed, “You know, the first time I got drunk was with Steve. We were still kids then. I had stolen a bottle of scotch from my father and the two of us took turns. Steve was taking bigger sips than me and yet I was the first to feel it.”

He smiled to himself as he leaned against the bedside table, “This was when he was only the size of one of my legs. In the end, I was the one who vomited everywhere as he watched. He  _was_  drunk but he handled it much better than me. Trust me, it could always be worse.”

“Heh, thanks,” You stood hesitantly, grasping your head with one hand, “That makes me feel slightly better, “I’m sorry. I should have paced myself last night.”

“Don’t be, your life has changed a lot...and all because of me. It’s a lot to handle.” He brushed his fingers through his hair as he spoke, “You’ve dealt with so much in such a short time better than I have over the last year.”

“I don’t think getting drunk helps anything,” You muttered.

“We’re all allowed our moments of weakness. You showed me that, Y/N,” He said, “So, get cleaned up and I’ll be in the kitchen  making breakfast. You’ll feel better once you eat.”

He left you and you flopped back on the bed, covering your face with your hands. You felt like shit. You closed your eyes, but only for a second, afraid that you would fall back asleep. That would only make your head worse.

You sat up and looked down at the dress you still wore. You smelled of alcohol and sweat. You stood and stretched out your shoulders, searching for sweatpants and a tank top. After a shower, you hoped you would feel more yourself.

* * *

You found Bucky in the kitchen, the smell of his cooking settled and taunted your gurgling stomach. You sat down, your damp hair brushing the top of your back and sending a chill up your spine. You rested your elbows on the island and watched the chef work.

Bucky looked over his shoulder, a hint of a smile as he saw you. He turned away from the pan atop the stove and took down a mug from the cupboard. He swiftly filled it and set it before you without a word. You mumbled a bashful thanks as he returned to his cooking.

You were slightly confused. When you had left him the day before, he had been withdrawn and sullen. Today, he seemed content. His movements were easier, calmer. Before he had been tense and impatient.  _Had something happened last night? If so, what could have changed him?_

“All ready,” You watched him awkwardly scoop half the omelet onto the plate with his only hand. He hissed as he almost dropped it and chuckled. He set it beside your coffee with a flourish, “Enjoy.”

You raised a brow as you watched him serve himself and sit across from you. He took his fork and hand but it hovered over his plate as he looked to you. He tilted his head and frowned, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” You picked up your fork reluctantly, “Thank you.”

He shrugged and shoved egg in his mouth, focusing on his plate. You chewed on a small morsel, your thoughts flurrying. “Are you alright?”

“What do you mean?” He swallowed his mouthful as his fork scraped the plate.

“You’re in a better mood…” You observed, “Why?”

“Uh, yeah,” He pursed his lips anxiously, “I was hoping we could wait until after breakfast to talk but I guess now is as good a time as any.”

“Okay?”

“Yesterday when you were...out, I had some time to think. I’m sorry I was so moody, I just couldn’t stop my mind.” He began cautiously, “I tend to cling to the worst and ignore the good and when you told me you were going to start training, it just sent me crashing. I was so happy you decided to stay that I didn’t even think of reality.

“I know you’re right, Steve too. I know there’ll be another fight. There always is. And it would be better if you knew how to defend yourself, if it ever came to it. I was selfish to get upset about it. You should be able to do whatever you want and I shouldn’t act like your father. I’m your friend not your keeper...but I  _would_  prefer you safe and in one piece.”

“Oh…” You hadn’t expected the argument to end so easily but you were relieved, “Thank you. I want you to know I’m not stupid. I know I’ll never be the most gifted fighter but I would feel better if I could try to help.”

“It’s unfair to expect otherwise,” He agreed, “If you want, I can teach you how to use a knife? Or shoot?”

“Um,” You hadn’t yet considered weapons; the thought made you nervous, “Sure. I think that would be alright, just be warned, patience is a must.”

“You’re smarter than you think, Y/N,” Bucky took another bite of egg, gulping chewing between words, “I think you’ll learn quicker than you expect.”

Your stomach reeled you back and your hunger pooled in your mouth. You were almost salivating as you remembered the food before you. You couldn’t help but shovel the omelet down and ravenously drained your mug, the meal quelling your hangover.

You offered to clean up when you finished but as you piled the plates in the sink, a knock came at the door. Bucky flinched and rose, disappearing into the living room. He returned with another in tow, though it wasn’t anyone you had expected.

Her red attire and bald head marked her as a member of the king’s Dora Milaje. You recognized her from the conference. Her stoic manner was intimidating, scary even. You couldn’t dream of ever being as imposing a figure as her.

“This is her?” She asked looking you over, her brown eyes discerning.

“It is,” Bucky was all too gleeful to confirm her disappointment, “She’s tougher than she looks.”

“What’s going on?”

“Y/N, this Okoye,” He introduced with obvious pleasure, “Apparently, she’s here to begin your training.”

“Wha--” You hadn’t expected to be trained by a Dora Milaje. You suddenly felt very unprepared as you cursed your previous night of partying. “I, uh, okay.”

“I’ll do the cleaning up,” Bucky neared with a grin, “You go and get started. You’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Thanks,” You muttered under your breath dryly, “You don’t have to be so smug about it.”

“Well, I mean, the timing couldn’t be better,” He returned coyly, “How’s the head?”

“Just great,” You were ready to smack him but instead stepped past him, “Have fun with your goats, old man.”


	28. Chapter 28

It had been the longest day of your life. Longer than the day Bucky had left; longer than the day you had been interrogated; and even longer than the day you had been fired. You were sore, tired, and done with everything. You needed to lay down.

“Faster,” Okoye hollered from across the field as you ran.

Your legs were burning and couldn’t move any quicker. The sun was beating down and you were drenched in sweat, pumping your arms and panting. Your lungs were on fire and your stomach hurt. You neared your trainer and stopped before her, half-bent and huffing.

“Twenty burpees,” She demanded, pointing to the grass, “Now.”

With shaking arms, you obeyed but only made it to eight before you collapsed and rolled over with a whimper. She stood over you and smiled. She knelt down, offering her hand and pulled you to your feet.

“You need a lot of work,” She said, “But you have determination. Effort is just as useful as strength. Shuri told me you were a novice but I didn’t expect  _you_.”

“Huh?” You gaped at her; insulted and hopeless.

“It’s fine,” She waved her hand, “I’ve trained worse. But we need to get you into shape before any sort of combat exercises. I’ll give you a plan before I go and you’ll have to stick to it. I’ll know if you don’t and that’ll be a hundred burpees.”

“O-Okay,” You said through heavy breaths, “I will.”

“I’ll ask the American to help you,” She began to lead you back to the house.

You nodded, barely keeping up with her as you dragged your feet. “I’ll meet you inside,” She pointed you towards the back door, “There is one more thing I must do before I leave.”

You stumbled up the steps and into the kitchen, climbing clumsily onto a stool and leaning over the counter as you wiped the sweat from your face. Bucky entered through the screen door, likely having seen your return from the barn. You looked up as he grinned and opened the fridge, filling a glass of water and setting it before you. It felt like deja vu. He had done that before.

“Drink…but not too quickly,” He leaned on the island and looked you over, “You look thoroughly worn out.”

“Shut up,” You rasped and drank deeply, the door opening once more.

Okoye entered with two wide, shallow boxes and another sigh. She placed them on the counter, a black and silver envelope on top. She stepped back with a hand on her hip and half a smile.

“The princess never sends me on one mission at a time,” She said, “She wanted me to bring those. She is…not well today.” She looked at your sharply, “She had a late night.”

“Yeah, yeah,” You winced guiltily, “Thanks.”

“Anyhow, I must be off,” She announced loftily, “Oh, yes, do you have a paper and pen?”

“Right here,” Bucky retrieved a small notebook from the drawer and a pen.

Okoye scribbled in it hurriedly and tore out the page, handing it to you with a smile. “This is your plan.” She turned to Bucky as you took it from her, “Make sure she follows that. I’ll be back in a week.”

“Will do,” Bucky assured her and she set out with a final, almost cheerful, goodbye.

You stared at the list of drills and set it down with a grimace. Your muscles felt like rubber.

“I told you it wouldn’t be easy,” Bucky chimed.

“And I told you I know,” You shook your head, “I’ll get through it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll help,” He assured before turning his attention to the boxes, “I wonder what all this is.”

He took the envelope from atop them and held it out to you. You reluctantly accepted it and tore it open, staring at the letters in a daze. It took a moment to process the words and you groaned.

“Shuri is having an official birthday party in two days,” You finished your glass of water between words, “She wants us to go.”

“Us?” Bucky raised a brow, “I think you should just go.”

“Bucky,” You tilted your head as you slipped off the stool, taking one of the boxes, “She invited both of us. And it would be good for you to get off the farm for a while.”

“I don’t like crowds,” He mumbled so quietly that you almost didn’t hear him.

“I’ll stay close,” You offered, “And we can leave whenever you want. I just think we both owe it to Shuri.”

“I know,” He stared at the box as you removed the lid, revealing a dark blue blazer. He eyed it with disdain and grunted.

“This must be for you,” Below the jacket was a pair of trousers, dress shirt, tie, and shoes.

“Must be,” He frowned deeper as you replaced the lid.

“Please,” You turned to him, “I don’t want to go alone.”

“Alright,” He relented, “I’ll go, okay?”

“Thank you,” You gave a small smile, “Ow,” You gripped your thighs as you moved, “I’m so sore.” Bucky’s lips curved as he held in his amusement at your hobbling. You shook your head and scowled. “I’m sure that super soldier serum helps with cramping.”

“I don’t really get cramps,” He replied, clearing his throat as he tried to hide his pleasure, “Here,” He offered his arm, “I’ll help you to the couch, old lady.”

“Ha ha,” You said dryly, “How long have you been waiting to say that?”

“Long enough,” He answered as he led you into the living room, his smile returning as you grunted in pain.

* * *

You awoke to the sound of bleating; some distant and some closer. You sat up, your muscles still as tender as when you had fallen into bed. You stood and felt your way slowly through the dark. You passed through the front room and into the kitchen, the screen door exposing the stars in the night sky.

Oscar was kicking at the door with his hoof, neighing loudly and frantically. You opened the door and let him in but he didn’t run to Bucky’s room as he usually did. Instead, he paced in circles and back and forth from the door. You couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him.

You heard footsteps creak and Bucky’s broad figure appeared in the dark kitchen as he wiped his eyes with his hand. He yawned as he approached you and snarled down at Oscar. “What’s wrong with him?”

“I don’t know,” You put your hands on your hips, more for support than as a gesture.

You listened and the second set of bleating came again. It was shrill and pained. You looked to Bucky and bit your lip nervously. “Let me grab my phone.” You went as quickly as you could to retrieve your phone, turning on the flashlight as you limped back into the kitchen.

You let Oscar back out into the yard and followed him down the steps towards the barn. When you entered, the bleating was louder and you shone the light around until you found the source. Charlotte was on her side in a pile of hay, her voice echoing off the wooden walls. She was breathing heavily.

“Goddamn,” You felt your chest seize, “It’s time.”

“Time?” Bucky gulped beside you.

“Unfortunately,” You unlocked your phone and began to type.

“What are you doing?” He stared at the screen.

“Googling goat birth,” You answered matter-of-fact, “Or would you know all about that too, old man?”


	29. Chapter 29

It was daylight by the time you had brought Charlotte’s offspring into the world. For all your effort, the goat had done most of the work as you were left to clean up the mess. Bucky was half in a panic for the duration but stayed at your side; eerily silent and wide-eyed.

When at last the mewling bleats sounded from the newborn kid, he let out a sigh of relief, stroking Charlotte’s head softly. You sat back on the barn floor as you watched the infant nestle up to its mother. You wiped the sweat from your brow with your forearm and yawned into your elbow.

“You got a name for this one?” You asked slyly.

“Nah,” Bucky stood with his hand on his lower back, “I figure you’ve earned that privilege.”

“Oscar Junior?” You kidded and he shook his head sternly. “How about Wilbur?”

“Wilbur?” Bucky echoed, “That’s…different.”

“I forgot you weren’t really conscious for most of the last century,” You shrugged and pushed yourself to your feet with a series of groans and cracks, “It’s from a children’s book; _Charlotte’s Web_. Charlotte’s a spider and Wilbur’s a pig. I figure it goes together.”

“I guess,” His mouth slanted as he thought, “I’ll have to read this book.”

“Mmm,” You didn’t make too much comment; it was his choice to suffer further heartbreak, “Come on. I need a coffee or a nap. I’ll make up my mind once we’re inside.”

“You said it,” He followed as you passed him and rubbed your still achy shoulders. You would definitely need more sleep if you were to follow Okoye’s plan.

* * *

After your work out, you had snuck into the barn to see Wilbur. He was up and walking around and Oscar seemed always to be near the kid. Charlotte was little concerned in those times when her child was not feeding from her and you had grown painfully attached in little more than a day.

You scooped up Wilbur who bleated pathetically but did not struggle. Instead he settled in your arms and licked your chin, eliciting a giggle from you. You cradled him like a child as Oscar pulled on the lace of your shoe and you heard footsteps outside the barn. Bucky appeared and cocked his head at the scene.

“Would you give that beast back to his mother?” He snickered.

“I’m, like, his second mother,” You countered, “You jealous or something?”

“Or something,” He answered as you set the goatling down carefully, “Just reminding you of our previous engagement this evening.”

“Oh yeah, Shuri’s party,” You could see the anxiety crawling up his spine, “Who knows, it might be fun.”

“Overcrowded and rowdy,” He muttered, “Can’t we make up some excuse? We should stay here and care for the baby.”

“He’s a goat. His mom knows how to tend to him,” You shook your head, “Come on, James, we’ll suffer together.”

His eyes flashed as he considered and he lowered his chin in surrender. “Fine…it can’t be worse than anything else I’ve gone through.”

“That’s the spirit,” You patted his shoulder as you neared, “Now, better I not go smelling of sweat and goats.”

* * *

You weren’t entirely a fan of the dress Shuri had sent you but you didn’t have much choice in the matter. The long pink sheath had a slit down your left leg and and an off-the shoulder neckline. You were certain the cut was too young for you and your reflection did little to comfort you. A smaller box had been hidden along with a pair of nude heels, a golden chain with a single large pearl hanging from it.

It took a few too many tries to perfect your low chignon and you were content just to have your hair up. It didn’t look half bad for all your struggles. You entered the kitchen in frustration, bending a bobby pin between your fingers as you tried not to scream.

Bucky seemed to sense you emerge from your room and appeared at the other side. He wore dark blue trousers and a black dress shirt; the clothing surprisingly well-tailored. The left arm had been removed and sewn up so that a sleeve did not hang awkwardly at his side. He held a brush in his hand and looked as angry as you.

“What’s the matter?” You asked.

“I should ask you the same. You look ready to break something.”

“It just took forever to get my hair to co-operate…and I look like a big pink hippo.”

“You look just fine to me. More than,” He said with a clumsy smile. “Ahem, I am also having, uh, hair issues. I’d ask you to help but I don’t really want it pulled out of my head.”

“No, no, I’ll help,” You neared him and took the brush as he placed his hair tie in your other hand, “How do you want it?”

“Presentable?” He sighed as he sat on a stool with his back to you. “I’d like it all up, if you could. I don’t necessarily want to look like a goat farmer.”

“No problem,” You brushed his hair back and gathered it in your hand, looping the tie around it and stepping back. You sidestepped the stool to look at him from the front and smiled, “There. Man buns are really in these days.”

“It’ll do,” He pursed his lips as he stood, “You wouldn’t believe how long it took me to do up these buttons.”

“I’ll not even recount the adventure which was fitting into this dress,” You kidded, “And the shoes won’t be any more fun.”

He chuckled and shook his head, pausing as his eyes focused on you. The corners of his mouth twitched and he tore his gaze away from you. “It’s a nice colour on you,” He said as he headed for his bedroom door, “I just need to grab my jacket and then we can go.”

* * *

A driver arrived soon after you finished your make-up, though you hadn’t done as much as Shuri would have. You wanted to look natural, not painted. Plus you weren’t very skilled in that area. Even so, you felt pretty good and even excited.

Bucky was another story. As you sat beside him in the back of the car, he pick at the hem of his jacket and fidgeted. It had been quite a while since he had been in public. It felt like years had passed since he had appeared in your museum. Well, not yours anymore.

As you stepped out, you waited patiently for him. You walked side by side behind the crowd gathering to get into the immense hall. Your arms nearly touched, both your gaits were stunted and tense. Your eyes met as you looked to each other in a moment of shared reluctance. A shadow of a smile bowed his lips and you tried one of your own.

Inside at last, you found the table with your name cards and sat in a circle of strangers. The people quieted as the king entered at the head table, followed shortly by the princess. T’Challa praised his sister, followed by a few words from their mother. You listened with a grin on your face; learning more about the clever girl who acted the rebel.

You caught Bucky with a smile of his own but it faded as he noticed your attention. He straightened his jacket and sat up straight as you looked back to the royal table. When at last the food arrived, your nerves had settled and even your escort seemed calmer.

You were on the first bite of your dessert when Shuri greeted you with a half-shout. You were choking on the mouthful of cheesecake as she laughed at your chagrin. Bucky clapped your back, quite hard, and you wiped your lips with a napkin and swallowed.

“Sorry,” Shuri smirked, “You do always have to overreact.”

“Happy birthday, Shuri,” You said ignoring her sass, “Again.”

“Shhh,” She lowered her voice, “Our little night out is our secret.”

“Oh, great,” You sighed, “Now I’m aiding and abetting the princess’ hijinks.”

Music started as waiters began to clear plates and chairs were left empty. You ignored the sudden rush to the dance floor as you sat comfortably with your friends.Your present circumstance was hard to believe that after your weeks of seclusion following your dismissal.

“Well, I was going to tell you how lovely you looked, Y/N, but it’s what’s inside that is really beautiful…”

“Oh, so funny,” You grumbled.

“But the old man,” She turned to Bucky who was unimpressed with his moniker, “You look pretty sauve. Almost as if you belong.”

“Shuri,” You warned.

“Alright, mom,” She said sardonically, “I was only kidding.” The music changed and she bopped her head, wiggling her fingers to the beat. “Come on, you guys. Let’s dance.”

“I’m not much of a dancer,” Bucky said, “I wouldn’t even know how to begin with…this music.”

“It’s my birthday, please,” She was almost whining and you could feel the roll of Bucky’s eyes.

“One song,” You muttered to him, “Okay?”

“One song,” He said pointedly, “One.”

You stood, waiting for the reluctant third of your trio. You followed Shuri toward the dance guests and kept your voice hushed. “I don’t like it anymore than you.”

“Well, in my day, our music made a little more sense and our dancing wasn’t so frantic.”

“In your day, you were all boring,” Shuri chimed as she turned around, moving her hips and working her arms to the rhythm, “You need to get with the times, Goat Boy.”

“I need a drink,” He mumbled under his breath, awkwardly trying to sway to the music. It was quite the pitiful sight.


	30. Chapter 30

When the music ended, you saw relief wash over Bucky. It didn’t last as the next song began, a slow tune, and Shuri caught his arm before he could retreat. She took your hand in hers and pulled the both of you close.

“Come on, you two. Loosen up, I didn’t invite you to sulk all night. And you didn’t even bring me a birthday present, so you owe me.” She sounded like a spoiled child.

“I’ll dance, Shuri,” You deemed yourself the sacrifice.

“ _Both_ of you,” She demanded, “Come on. You must know how to slow dance, Blast from the Past.”

“I only have one arm,” Bucky looked away embarrassed, “I’d not be much of a partner.”

“Aye, by tradition, I owe my brother this dance and you two are not getting out of this so easily. One arm or not,” She tried to push you together. “Now go on…I’ll know if you don’t.”

You scrunched your lips, turning to Bucky awkwardly. You hadn’t slow danced since high school and that had been with your best friend. He offered his arm as his eyes avoided yours. You stepped closer and set your hands on his shoulders as his found the small of your back.

Shuri grinned and clapped her hands as you began to sway, “Now, let me find my brother so I can get back to partying.”

She left you and you stared at Bucky’s tie. You hadn’t done a very good job with that but he couldn’t do it himself. You could feel the heat gathering along your neck and the peculiar tingle in your limbs. It was _just_ Bucky.

You sensed the tension in him and looked up to find him staring back. You tried to smile but your lips trembled and fell.

“You should really learn to say no to her,” He reproached.

“Me? You weren’t exactly forceful either,” You accused, “Besides, I’m not her mother.”

“No, only her drinking buddy.”

You were growing annoyed with him but the grin on his face deterred your anger. He was joking. It was nice to see him let go. Perhaps this was why Shuri had invited you. He had such a nice smile. It was a pity it had taken him so long to show it. You forced yourself to laugh, realizing you hadn’t yet responded.

You gulped back the last of your chuckles and looked down. This wasn’t right. _This feeling…_

The music ended and you detached yourself from Bucky, your movements stiff and your mind reeling. You probably looked like a frightened bird. “Uh,” You sputtered, “I gotta go bathroom. Excuse me.”

You nearly fell over your shoes as you turned, pushing through the crowd. You searched out the signs denoting a restroom and tried not to trip. You were surprised to find the toilette empty, though it was still early in the night.

You approached the marble counter and stared into the mirror. You forced yourself to release the breath your had been holding in, repeating the process until your heart slowed. It was all in your head. It was just an odd situation. All just your imagination.

The door burst open behind you and you met Shuri’s eyes in the mirror. You smiled weakly and turned on the sink, acting as if you had been about to wash your hands. “Hey, don’t worry, I’m coming back.”

“You okay? You look flushed?” She stood beside you, her concern underline with mischief.

“Just fine,” You rinsed the soap from your hands, “Everything’s fine.”

The rest of the night passed by smoother than expected. Bucky was in the corner for most of it after your dance while you appeased Shuri. You were far from the best dancer and not so inclined to rhythm without alcohol, but it was fun. 

Even so, you couldn’t help thinking of him. You felt bad knowing he didn’t want to be there. Realizing that he was a man displaced in time. And him hiding at the edge of the room didn’t help. Then there were those other thoughts which you were refusing to acknowledge.

“Hey,” He was staring at his feet as you approached, “I think we can sneak out now. Shuri’s well enough distracted.”

“Yeah?” He raised his brows, his bright eyes reflecting the low light, “You okay?”

“Good, tired,” You answered, looking around for the way you had come in, “I just want to take these damn shoes off and lay down.”

“I never thought I’d miss Oscar…” He joked and you pointed him towards the door.

“And I never thought you’d admit it,” You mused, walking him to the exit.

You stood for a few minutes at the bottom of the steps, unsure of how to track down your ride. Before your panic could rise, a car pulled up and the window revealed your driver. Bucky opened the door and you slid across the seat. He climbed in beside you and the car moved almost intuitively.

You bent over to take off your shoes, holding them on your lap as you closed your eyes and leaned against the seat. You really were tired. And it was the first time since your arrival in Wakanda that your anxiety was so intense. You had to stop thinking about it. 

_But how could you when he was right beside you?_

You must have drifted off as the car came to a stop and light tap on your shoulder woke you. You shook the sleep out of your head and got out, not bothering to replace your shoes. Your bare feet dusted through the dirt as you followed Bucky inside.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” You asked with a yawn as you tossed your shoes beside the door.

“I’ll admit, I had _some_ fun,” He pulled off his jacket and laid it over the back of the couch, “You’re right. I should get out more. Just maybe not with Shuri.”

“Maybe the next time Steve comes, you two can go do something,” You wondered aloud, “Gosh, I’m tired.”

“Long day,” He uttered wistfully, “Stressful.”

You nodded and caught his eye. A thick silence rose as you tried helplessly to think of something else to say. _What was wrong with you?_ You hadn’t been this tongue-tied since he had glared you away in the museum. 

“Uh…I think I should go to bed,” You blurted, “I’m so tired I can’t even think.”

“Oh, okay,” His words were stunted, as if he had expected a different response, “Good night.”

“Good night,” You murmured instinctively, hesitating before heading for your bedroom door.

With one last glance back, you smiled at Bucky before closing the door. You pulled the pins out of your hair, piling them atop your dresser. You reached back to unzip your dress but could only reach half way. A small knock came at the door as you struggled and you turned in surprise.

“What is it?”

The handle clicked before you had finished your sentence. Bucky’s blue eyes shone with purpose as he entered and marched towards you. His hand grazed your neck and along your chin as he bent to press his lips to yours. He kissed you carefully but there was a hunger in his touch; one which sparked your own.

You were swept up in him. His fingers upon your flesh, his lips on yours, the electricity it sent through you. The rush of adrenaline flurried with wonder. _Were you dreaming? Was he truly kissing you?_

The man who had stared at battlefields in your museum. Who had run away and left you alone. Who had retreated to a farm without a friend. Spending his days and nights reliving the past. He was kissing you as no one had before. As if you were the only woman in the world. 

And you kissed him back.

He pulled away, looking down at you with an expression as stunned as you felt. He blinked and smiled, “I wanted to do one thing in my life I won’t regret,” He breathed, “Just one.”


	31. Chapter 31

Bucky pulled away, the heat of his lips lingering. You looked down, trying to hide the burning in your cheeks. You reached up to touch your lips reverently, your breath caught in your chest.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” He said quietly, “I didn’t mean to hurt–”

“James,” You stopped him, forcing yourself to look in his eyes. The flush of your cheeks fiery and unyielding, “You didn’t…” You shook your head with an awkward smile, “…hurt me. I just wasn’t expecting that.”

“I’m sor–”

“Please, don’t apologize. Unless you regret it?” You lifted your brows, the smile dying on your lips, “Do you?”

“Not for an instant,” He assured you, the corners of his mouth twitching.

You stepped nearer, taking the collar of his shirt between your fingers, tugging him so that he leaned down. His lips were an inch away, his breath hot, his eyes meek but hopeful. You pressed your mouth to his, the ardor building as you felt him kiss you back. His arm wrapped around you and you felt the top button of his shirt pop as you pulled on it.

Time passed without notice until you found the strength to separate from him. Both of you were close to panting, so enraptured in each other that the necessity of air had become an afterthought. You were almost giggly. There were bubbles forming in your stomach and you couldn’t do more than look at Bucky, longing to touch him. To trace every line of his face, to feel his warmth.

Then came the fear. That which had kept you alone for so long. The distrust that had built a wall between you and the world. The intangible which you had reinforced with reality. You were trembling as sense returned to you.

“Y/N,” Bucky touched your shoulder calmingly, hesitantly. You knew he could feel you shaking, feel the change in you, “Are you alright?”

“I…I just don’t want to disappoint you,” Your voice was so low you barely heard it yourself, “I don’t want to disappoint myself again.”

“You couldn’t,” He cupped your cheek in his hand, “We don’t have to go fast.” He chewed his cheek before continuing, thinking, “I’m scared too. It’s been so long since I touched someone without hurting them. That I’ve been touched…”

“Thank you, James,” You placed your hand on his and smiled. These days, it was easy to forget who he used to be.

* * *

The next morning couldn’t have come quick enough. You finally had something in your life to look forward to. To want to wake up to. It was like the beginning of an adventure. It would be perilous but the risk was worth it. Besides, you had lost so much already, a little more wouldn’t hurt so much.

When you opened your eyes, you laid in bed for a moment, reliving the night before. The late night kiss; the surprise, the sparks. You felt like a teenager again. Or rather, for the first time. You had wasted so much time in your life hiding from others. You ran your fingers across your lips and smiled, sitting up so quickly your head spun.

You approached the door hesitantly, listening through the thick wood. You could hear movement in the kitchen, a pan jostling against the stove, a low humming filling the morning. The song was lively, if not off-key, but Bucky’s voice was comforting. It assured you that the night before had not been a blunder.

You opened your door quietly, setting your hand on it to muffle the click as you closed it. Your feet flitted over the floor as you made for the kitchen, your stomach fluttering as you entered. James was half-turned from you, working a pan over the stove. He looked to you and a smile bloomed on his face as he set down the pan on the stove and ceased his song.

“Y/N,” He greeted, “Good morning, coffee?”

He had begun to fill a mug before you could answer. You watched him, his overt joy taking you off guard. You had seen him at peace but you had never seen with such buoyancy. As he neared you, his face suddenly changed as he exclaimed and the cup fell from his hand as he followed it.

He was on the floor in a puddle of coffee, having tripped himself on the corner of the island. You raced over to him, kneeling over him in concern. He brushed his hair away from his face as he raised his head, his pain fading in an instant. He began to laugh, even as his white shirt was turning brown from the spill.

“Are you okay?” You asked, touching his shoulder as he tried to right himself, climbing to his knees.

“Oh god, that was…embarrassing,” He chuckled, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…I’ve just been so, um, distracted.”

“What’s gotten into you?” You giggled as he took the overturned mug from the floor and stood.

“You,” He set aside the cup and pulled you back to your feet, “I…hope I didn’t misunderstand last night.”

“No, definitely not,” You assured him, “You’re just so…” You paused, looking him over. His shirt clung to him damply and pieces of his hair dripped with coffee. It really was an amusing sight. “…happy.”

“That I am,” He bent down to kiss your cheek softly, shyly, “How could I be anything but?”

“Well,” You snorted, holding back your laughter, “I think you might be more so if you weren’t soaked in caffeine. I’ll clean this up and get my own coffee. You, go get changed.”

“I could just take my shirt off,” He offered with a wink.

“Sounds lovely but your hairs going to get sticky,” You shook your head, “And as much as I love the smell of coffee, I’m sure you’ll be sick of it sooner than later.”

“Fine,” He rolled his eyes but reached down and pulled at the hem of his shirt, swiftly removing it, “I’ll go get cleaned up.”

You stuck your tongue out at him as he reluctantly turned away. You were surprised at his mood but it was endearing to see him so untroubled. You quickly mopped up the puddle of coffee and rinsed and refilled the cup Bucky had intended for you. You turned off the bacon and eggs before they could burn, wiping away the random spatters across the side of the counter.

As you were about to take your first sip of your morning brew, you heard the churning of tires approaching. You crossed to the window and watched as Shuri’s car pulled up, sighing at another of her unannounced visits. She was likely there to lecture you for leaving her party early.

“There, all clean,” Bucky announced from behind you, entering in nothing but a pair of briefs, his hair damp and tangled. You blushed and laughed at his brazenness, peeking out the window once more. 

_Oh shit._

“Bucky, go get some clothes on,” You ordered in a shrill voice.

“What?” He finally noticed you looking out the window. He neared and peered out from behind you, “Who is that?”

Shuri waited for the other woman to climb out of the car, her familiar bobbed hair setting your nerves on end. You whisked around and nudged Bucky away from the window in a panic. He was utterly confused yet entertained by your reaction.

“That’s my mother,” You hissed, I would prefer you not meet her in your underwear,” You continued to shove him around the counter, “Please.”

“Your mother?” He planted his feet, stopping you without effort, “What is she doing here?”

“I have no fucking idea,” You frowned, “But I can only suspect it won’t be a very pleasant visit.”


	32. Chapter 32

Bucky retreated back to his room just as you heard the knock at the front door. You were about to start pulling out your hair. You set down your coffee, still longing for your first taste. You couldn’t handle this without caffeine. You reluctantly left the kitchen and dragged your feet through the living room.

With dread, you opened the door, feigning surprise as Shuri stood grinning beside your mother. The latter looked less than impressed.

“Mom!” You exclaimed, a little to over the top. “What are you doing here?”

“Better question; what are you _still_  doing here?” She quorked her head like a bird of prey, bearing down on you.

“We just talked…last week. I told you I was going to stay a bit longer.” You peeked at Shuri who was a bit too amused by the whole scene.

“Yes, but do you not recall the drunken call you made to me only days ago at midnight? I suspect it was even later here.” She turned her head to Shuri who shrunk away at her piercing gaze, “You and this one! Telling me you wanted me to come to Wakanda. A wonderful invitation but less so when I’m trying to sleep and still have half a house full of your stuff while you cavort around in Africa!”

“I love you too, mom,” You mumbled, “I missed you.”

“Don’t you try that,” She hitched the bag up on her shoulder. “Now, are you going to invite me in or will you once more leave your mother all by her lonesome?”

“No, come in,” You said and moved out of her path. Shuri followed and you stopped her before she could get past the door mat, “What the fuck?”

“I totally forgot I sent her the ticket until this morning,” She whispered, failing to conceal another smirk, “But it is kinda funny. She’s much more terrifying than my mother…and mine is a queen!”

“Right,” You turned away from her, your mother looking around the front room, “Here, let me take your bag.”

“Thanks,” She let you take her heavy tote and the suitcase she dragged in her other hand, “This is a rather cute home…where’s that farmer you were working for? The one with the hair?”

“Bucky?” Shuri chuckled, “I’m sure he’s hiding somewhere. Maybe with his goats.”

“Quiet,” You hissed over your shoulder as you dragged your mother’s bags just inside your bedroom door.

“Did someone say my name?” Bucky entered with even less chill than you. To your relief, he was dressed and his hair was brushed. If it wasn’t for the strained look on his face, he would’ve been perfect. “I’m Bucky.”

“Nora,” Your mother answered as she neared him, taking his hand cordially, “I hadn’t noticed the arm thing.”

“Mom,” You said mortified, “Not the way to say that.”

“No, it’s okay,” Bucky rescinded his hand and shrugged, though he looked embarrassed.

“What? He’s still quite a figure without it,” She was almost leering at him, “Even better looking in person.”

“Please stop,” You groaned. Bucky’s cheeks were glowing.

“Oh, dear, if I was still your age, I’d find myself a nice young goat herder myself,” She looked at you over her shoulder and winked, “Especially if he looked like this.”

“Mommmmmmmmm,” You almost whined. You, a grown woman, sounded like a child, “What do I have to do to get you to stop? I’m sorry, okay? So very sorry.”

“I’m not mad,” She whisked around, facing you with a smile, “I only missed my daughter who never calls me, even when she’s a world away.”

“I know,” You hung your head darkly, “I did mean to call more but…it’s been busy around here. Um, we had a baby goat. Not, uh, us, but Charlotte did. I mean, one of the goats.”

“Dear, please do bite your tongue before it falls out of your mouth,” She laughed, “I’ll have some coffee before I meet these goats of yours. And maybe something to eat.”

* * *

You placed your cup of coffee before your mom and doled out a plate of bacon and eggs for her. Shuri sat smugly at the island, openly enjoying your discomfort, and Bucky half hid in the doorway, picking at the frame with interest. He wasn’t the greatest back up.

“Um…” You squinted at him for a moment, cursing his cowardice at such a time, “I’m going to feed the goats.”

“No, I’ll do it!” Bucky rang, relishing the escape.

“You stay here,” You pointed at him, “Have some breakfast…I’m sure my mom has lots of questions.”

“I do,” You mom swallowed a piece of egg, “First of all, why have you stolen my daughter from me?”

“Uhhh,” His mouth fell open and his eyes widened in panic, “I didn’t–I–She chose–You can have her back.”

“Oh, do calm down,” She laughed, “I’m only joking.”

You shook your head and quickly fled out the door before she could turn her sights on you. You took your time scattering the feed, picking up Wilbur as you often did to cradle him. He was so cute and much better company than your mother.

A shadow filled the barn door and Shuri entered. She walked with a nonchalance which irked you. You were certain she had hidden your drunken phone call from you, knowing you couldn’t recall much about that night. She must have known for days that your mother was coming and she had not the grace to tell you.

“So,” She neared and cooed at Wilbur, stroking his small head, “This is the new goat?”

“Cut the crap, Shuri,” You pulled away and set Wilbur on his small hooves, “Why would you do this to me?”

“Why would I bring your mother to visit? Most people would see that as a favour.”

“You know what I mean. You could’ve warned me, at least,” You sighed, “Or Bucky…he’s not the greatest with new people.”

“Well, he seemed to take to you quite easily so I didn’t think your mother would fare much worse,” She grinned, “It’s odd to think that he’s older than her, isn’t it?”

“Yes, actually,” You frowned, “It is. Thank you, Shuri, again for your wise insight.”

You turned to watch the goats as they ate but Oscar had disappeared among the group. A moment ago, he had been in the centre of the horde. That one was always getting into trouble and reminded you of the girl at your shoulder.

You crossed your arms as you thought about how quickly the morning had soured. You had slept in a joyful rapture, awoken to a dreamlike sequence, but it had all crumbled quickly. Now reality was setting in and the day hadn’t even begun. Maybe, Bucky was too old for you; too fractured. Maybe you were too naive.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” Shuri punched your shoulder, breaking you from your thoughts, “I knew it.”

“What?” You narrowed your eyes as her smirk turned sinister.

“You and Goat Boy…something happened last night, didn’t it?”

“What? No?” You said without conviction.

“It did!” She nearly squealed, “I saw you after your dance but I thought you were too scared and, oh, please tell me everything.”

“Shuri, nothing happened,” You uncrossed your arms and passed her, heading for the door. Your mother was preferable to the princess at this point.

“You’re an awful liar,” She sang from behind you, “Don’t worry, I’ll just ask the man myself.”

“Shuri!” You turned on her, your finger in her face, “Don’t you dare, okay? It was just a kiss and it is none of your business. Or anyone else’s.”

“Damn, girl,” She chuckled, “Took you long enough…just a kiss?”

“Oh, goddamn,” You rolled your eyes.

“My lips are sealed,” She set her hand on her heart, “On my honour as a princess.”

“Mmmm,” You groaned darkly, “I trust that even less.”


	33. Chapter 33

You would have been relieved when Shuri left if she hadn’t left your mom behind. Most of the afternoon had been spent in an awkward limbo; mediating between your mother’s interrogative manner and Bucky’s naturally elusive character. It was like watching a cat corner a mouse and often he looked to you for backup. You had spent your life contending with her but it hadn’t made the situation any easier.

Plus your mother had taken over your kitchen. She was in there singing and cooking. You had offered to cook for her but she had quickly put that argument to rest. And Oscar loved her. You could tell his affection was irking Bucky who had pouted when the goat wouldn’t even look his way. The relationship between man and beast was at times confounding.

You sat beside Bucky on the couch; silent, tense. Your shoulders were a good feet apart and you stared blankly at the wall. You didn’t want your mom to suspect anything. She had given you a hard enough time and you hadn’t stopped cringing since her arrival. Your leg was shaking and you listened to the movement in the kitchen; the only sound in the house.

“So…” Bucky kept his voice low, “How are we going to tell your mother?”

“We’re not,” You turned to him with revulsion, “She can’t know.”

“But…you’re an adult, Y/N and I think she might already suspect something.”

“Suspicion is not affirmation,” You countered. “You don’t understand my mom. I haven’t had a boyfriend since university and she never shut up about him. As if it was some miracle that I had managed to lure in a man.”

“Oh,” He frowned as thought wrinkled his forehead, “It wouldn’t bother me, you know? Nothing would…because I like you.”

“I…like you too,” You exhaled deeply, “That’s not the issue here. I wanted to take this slow because I didn’t want to mess it up. Lo and behold, it’s not even been one day.”

“I like your mother, too,” He said, “She’s nice. A bit forward at times but she’s alright.”

“Bucky, you don’t have–”

“My parents died, um, a long time ago,” He looked away as he spoke, “I didn’t even know because of…everything. I mean, waking up and seeing that it had been more than seventy years, I knew but I still had to ask. Steve found their obituaries for me. Reading those, knowing I had missed so much, was harder than it would have been had I been there. You should cherish your mother while you still have her.”

“Oh, James, I’m sorry, I wasn’t meaning to complain so much,” You touched his hand and he flinched, softening as his eyes met yours, “I’m such an idiot.”

“No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” He said, “I only meant…I like having a mother around. Even if she’s not mine. Heh, even if I’m older than she is, it’s nice.”

“You can tell her if you want,” You surrendered, shifting closer, “It doesn’t matter who knows.”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. His cheek went taut against your lips as he smiled but he quickly winced and pulled away. His brows formed a straight line as he glared at you in dismay.

“Tell me Shuri doesn’t know,” He hissed.

“Um, no?” You gave a toothy smile and he scowled, “Sorry, she’s too damn smart for her own good.”

* * *

Bucky warmed to your mother during dinner. It had to be her food as she continued to ask him unnecessary questions and even fed table scraps to Oscar. He looked less than impressed at the latter but had cleared his plate before either of you. You hadn’t much of an appetite as you were certain your relationship would be unveiled at any second.

“So, mom,” You pushed a noodle across your plate, “How long are you staying?”

“Did you want me out this second?” She said.

“N-no, I was just wondering,” You hadn’t intended to speak so sharply.

“Til the end of the week. Hopefully you can stomach me until then.”

“Mom,” You grimaced, “You know I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Well how would I know? You’ve been sitting here stewing in silence.” She chided.

You sighed and looked to Bucky who was staring at his bare plate. You couldn’t tell if he was thinking of asking for more or distressed by the argument. Likely both.

“I want you here, okay? I’m happy even if I didn’t expect it,” You twirled your fork nervously as Bucky turned to watch. His eyes were on your half-eaten food and you weren’t in much of a mood to finish it. You set down your fork and shoved your plate towards him, “Finish it for me.”

His eyes widened like a doe, as if he was surprised that you could see him. He must have thought you had forgotten his presence in lieu of your mother’s and not noticed his gluttonous struggle. He muttered a thanks as you turned your sights back to your mother.

“You’ll take my room, of course, and I’ll have the couch,” You were trying to sound natural but the whole day had made you tense. “And in the morning, we’ll show you Wakanda.”

You mother nodded, silently sipping from her glass. “I missed you, dear,” She finally spoke, “It wasn’t fair, you know? You came back so suddenly after the museum and then just as quickly you were gone. I had no idea what you were doing over here…though I might have some idea now.”

“Mom,” You warned in a low growl but Bucky was blissfully unaware as he devoured your leftovers.

“I’m only teasing you,” She chuckled, “I’m just happy to have my daughter close again. I’m not young anymore. It’s too late for me to find a hunk in the wild.”

“Jeez,” You swore but laughed. Your mom always had a way of making you smile even if it was your expense. “A little subtlety goes a long way, mother.”

You glanced to Bucky once more but he was too bust chewing noodles to hear your mother’s flirtations.


	34. Chapter 34

The next morning was hectic. Your mother was always an early riser and you found yourself exploring the Wakandan backwoods with her just after the sun had made its first appearance. You allowed Bucky to remain in blissful ignorance, his snores girding you away from waking him. Besides, time alone with your mother was overdue.

After an encounter with a rather colourful and snappy snake, you had redirected your mother and headed back for the farm. When you came in sight of the barn, Bucky was out in the yard with the goats and you could already hear him shouting at Oscar. You sighed and shook your head as you set off towards the homestead.

“He has a quite peculiar relationship with that beast,” Your mother chuckled as you neared and Bucky raced across the grass, Oscar bounding away from him.

You came up to the outside of the fence to watch the chaos, wondering what it had been this time. As you leaned against a wooden post, Bucky’s toe caught an indent in the dirt and he went flying forward, crashing into the ground with a thump. He laid face down, breathing angrily into the grass before finally lifting his head.

“I swear to God,” He grumbled.

You furrowed your brow and looked to your mother. Her amusement mixed with concern. You used the bottom plank of the fence to lift yourself and clumsily climbed over into the yard. You saw Oscar hiding in the corner, his hooves kicking into motion as you set sight on him. Whatever he had stolen, he had left behind in the mud.

You crossed to Bucky, offering your hand as he rolled onto his back. His front was covered in green and brown smears and his faced was dirtied. He scowled and accepted your hand, groaning as you helped him to his feet. He looked ready to scream and cry all at once.

“What’s going on?” You asked as he tried to brush the grit off his shirt.

“He took it,” He snapped, searching around for the elusive goat, “That little ass.”

“What–” You stopped yourself, realizing he was too worked up to answer straight.

You touched his arm softly, trying to quell the storm inside him. You rescinded your hand, recalling your mother’s presence, and headed off for the corner of the yard. In the dirt you found Bucky’s journal splayed open, goat slobber and soil folded into the pages. You picked it up with a curse and turned back.

You returned to his side and held out the book. “It’s not completely ruined,” You offered weakly.

“Thanks,” He stared at it before taking it, trying to bend the spine back into place, “I don’t know how he got it…”

“He’s a sneaky bastard,” You contended, peeking over at your mother, “Look, why don’t you go get changed and we’ll go for a run? I still have to do my workout. It’ll take your mind off of it.”

“Where were you?” He asked.

“Exploring,” You smiled sourly, “You’re just lucky I didn’t make you get up with us.”

“Mmm,” He frowned, “My morning was rough enough.”

“Right, well…” You crossed your arms and looked at your mother once more, “Let’s go before I lost my motivation.”

* * *

Your mother had pulled out one of her novellas when you returned to the house at last. She had been content to stay behind as you explained your daily routine. _‘Since when had you started working out?’_ she puzzled but you shrugged her off and waited for Bucky.

You still had far to go but you didn’t want to disappoint Okoye. You suspected if you did, it would not make her any more malleable. You were starting to grow use to the achiness every night and it wasn’t so bad as when you had begun. You might actually be improving.

You left your mom with a hurried goodbye, though she seemed not to notice from behind her book. You set out at a steady trot though Bucky seemed eager to go faster. The fact that he wasn’t breathing as hard as you or even struggling with his gait irritated you. At times, you resented him for his super soldier conditioning.

“Sorry,” You huffed as you crested a knoll, stopping to clutch your hips, “I’m going as fast as I can.”

“No, don’t apologize,” He skidded to a halt and turned back, “Y/N, I wouldn’t expect you to go my speed. Not just yet. But trust me, one day, you’ll be there. It just takes work,”

“Mmhmm,” You scrunched your face up grumpily, “I’m sure that serum has nothing to do with it.”

“Even if I thought it was a good idea, I wouldn’t know where to get some for you,” He laughed, “And you can’t be so tough on yourself. You’re a lot stronger than you know.”

“Well…” You squinted at him, “You seem in a better mood.”

“I am,” He smiled, “How could I not be? I get some time with you…without your mother or the goats.”

“Oh and how lovely it is,” You scoffed, “Me all sweaty and out of breath.”

“Trust me, I don’t mind,” He slung his arm over your shoulders, “I can’t say I haven’t longed to see you in such a state, but the circumstances were much different.”

“Oh lord,” You poked him in the ribs, “You’re as bad as my mother.”

“I’ve been patient,” He argued, leaning down to kiss your forehead, “I haven’t said anything…and I’ve kept my hands to myself.”

“And I appreciate it,” You said, turning to him, “I’m not so happy myself about this maternal visit. She’ll be gone soon though and then we can continue where we left off. Promise.”

“Does that mean no smooches?” He leaned in closer.

“Smooches?” You raised a brow. “No, I think we’re fine up here.”

He closed the gap to press his lips to yours, the electricity flowing through you as before. It brought you back to that night after Shuri’s party. The same disbelief overcame you and you wrapped your arms around Bucky, making sure that he was real.

“So…” He pulled away at last, “I was thinking, you know how you were saying I should get away more?”

“Um, yes,” You clung to him, grinning as he spoke. You could see the nervousness in him but his vulnerability was encouraging. He wasn’t the type to let his emotions show to just any; well, outside of anger and disillusion.

“When you’re mother leaves, I was thinking I should take you on a real date. Away from the farm.”

“Oh yeah?” You replied, “That sounds nice, but I don’t think there’s many jazz clubs left in Wakanda.”

“Dinner and a picture sounds just right to me,” He ran his thumb over your cheekbone, “You do still have pictures I’ve heard. In colour, too.”

“Movies, we call them,” You giggled, “And it sounds great.”

You felt your phone vibrate but ignored it. You hugged Bucky to you and rested your head against his chest. He stroked his fingers over your hair soothingly. Your phone continued to rumble. You were about to toss it down the hill.

“One second,” You sighed and released Bucky, pulling out your phone, “I swear if it’s Shuri, I’m going to–”

Your voice caught as you stared at your phone screen. You couldn’t choose between rage or shock. You stood with your mouth open, your eyes widened as your phone continued to vibrate and messages appeared one after the other.

“What is it?” Bucky asked.

“Steve’s here,” You turned the phone to him.

Your mother had sent at least a dozen photos of Steve though not all of them included his face. You weren’t sure how she had managed such intimate shots of his behind but they kept coming. Finally, your phone ceased it tremors and the last message was a selfie of your mom and a very uncomfortable looking Steve.

“I think we should go back,” You locked your phone and tucked it in your pocket, “I’m not sure Captain America is any match for my mother.”


	35. Chapter 35

Your lungs were burning as you neared the house. You could feel the stray hairs sticking to the sweat along your forehead and neck. Bucky kept to your rear though you knew he could easily pass you. He was less concerned than you over your mother and Steve. Even after he had been victim to her quirks.

You tripped as you approached the front door. Bucky caught you with his only hand, holding you a foot from the ground easily. It was at times staggering to think his body held such strength. With a single arm he was stronger than you were with two. When you had met, you would have expected it from his steely veneer. But now, it seemed so uncharacteristic after seeing the gentleness within.

You thanked him, embarrassed at your clumsiness. You pushed inside to the very scene you had expected. Steve was sat tight against the arm of the couch and your mother was at his other side. She had cornered him and he seemed clueless as to how to curb her advances.

“Steve!” You greeted with exaggerated surprise. Your mother turned to you with a sly smirk. “We had no idea you were coming.”

“Yes, well…” He stood, keeping his eyes on your mother until he was upright, “Everything just seemed to line up so I thought I’d stop by to check in.”

“I see you’ve met my mother, Nora,” You shot her a warning glare.

“Oh yes, she’s very friendly,” He smiled over his shoulder awkwardly, “Where were you guys?”

“Working out,” You answered, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand.

“Dear, you didn’t tell me you knew Captain America,” You mother rounded Steve and approached you.

“Well Ma’am, I’ve retired that title for the time being,” He explained, “America’s not so much of a friend to me anymore. I’m a fugitive these days.”

“Even more delicious,” You mom breathed almost with a sultry air and you nudged her.

“Bucky,” You muttered over your shoulder, “Please get him out of here before she sinks her teeth in.”

“Hey, uh, Steve,” Bucky stepped past you, having lingered behind in observation of the door frame, “I need a coffee. Join me.”

“You know, I really think you have too much of that stuff,” Steve reprimanded, “Even if you are a super soldier.”

“Just get in the kitchen now,” Bucky ordered, “For your own sake.”

As they made their way to the door, you saw the not-so-subtle effort by Steve to hide his backside. You shook your head as you raised a brow. Your mother seemed proud of herself despite your obvious disgust. You turned to her in horror. 

“Can’t I leave you alone?”

“Oh, you have many times,” She snarked, “But really, what else was I to do? You’ve got Avengers visiting these days. And this Bucky…I think I recall him from some news report.”

“It’s a long story,” You frowned, “I’d tell you if I didn’t think it better coming from the man himself. It’s his to tell.”

“I know,” Her grin softened from lecherous to empathetic, “But you know, you could tell me some things. I almost hyperventilated when that snack turned up.”

“Please, don’t call Steve a snack.”

“Oh, but it’s the hip thing. ‘Snacc’ with two c’s?” She replied.

“Both of us are too old for that kind of talk,” You cringed, “Now please, promise me you’ll keep your hands and camera to yourself.”

* * *

Steve stayed later than expected. Him and Bucky were not so tense as before. The wall which had built between them previously had dissolved. Your mother fawned over them in the most confounding manner. One moment, she treated them as sons and the next she was making the most obscene inferences.

Even so, the afternoon passed by peacefully and dinner too. You were tired from your workout and the unexpected visit so you excused yourself early. Bucky snuck a kiss when your mother took her novel into your bedroom. You drifted off quickly, though the couch was not so comfortable as that first night.

When you awoke, you had a shank of hair in your mouth, your head squished between cushion and pillow. You had been in a deep sleep and failed to awaken at whatever kerfuffle had led to the kitchen lights being aglow. You rolled over and sat up, yawning as you heard small hooves in the next room.

You stood and crept to the kitchen door, peeking through quietly. A hushed voice came from within and you saw Bucky’s back. His broad shoulders were hunched forward, a wrinkled hand on the right one. It rubbed circles as he trembled, his hand gripping the counter. Oscar paced anxiously around your mother’s feet.

“Shhh,” She leaned over Bucky, “It’s okay, dear. That’s enough crying. It’s over now. You’re here. And look, Oscar is too and he needs his friend.”

Bucky sniffed, releasing the counter’s edge as he wiped his face. You couldn’t see him but you guessed he was crying, if not close to. Your mother’s hand moved and she pulled him to her, embracing him as she cooed in his ear. Many nights, she had done the same for you.

“Drink your tea,” She stood straight, “It’ll make you feel better. And sleep.”

“Hmmp,” You heard the hoarseness of tears in his voice, “Y/N said the same.”

“Well, she is _my_ daughter,” Your mother preened, sitting on a stool of her own, “She’s a smart girl…woman.”

“She is,” Bucky agreed, “She read me like a book that first day in her museum. I could tell…it almost made me run then and there.”

“She knew you needed her, not all that nasty stuff those monsters made you do,” Your mother said, “She’s never been the most social, but she finds those who need her most.”

“I don’t know though…if there’s anything that can truly help me,” He sighed, “I don’t feel like the Winter Soldier anymore but…I remember it. I fear it. I’d never want to hurt Y/N. Or anyone else.”

“You won’t,” She assured him, “You haven’t so far and I see those puppy dog eyes. You love my daughter. You couldn’t hurt her if you tried. Besides, she’s a tough bitch.”

‘ _Bitch?_ ’, you thought to yourself but kept quiet.

“How–” He shook his head, “You know?”

“How could I not?” She smiled, “Just take care of her for me.”

You let the door fall close silently and stepped back, retreating to the couch. You felt as if you had intruded upon them. You shouldn’t have listened for so long. Your mind clasped onto that one word. Repeating it over and over as you hid under the blanket.

Did Bucky really _love_ you?

Did you love him?


	36. Chapter 36

You didn’t sleep much that night you had witnessed the scene between Bucky and your mother. The next few days you had spent obsessing over it. Replaying the sequence in your head. You found yourself staring at Bucky in those moments or forgetting what you were doing. During your workout, you had managed to knee yourself in the nose while doing a burpee.

You had become skilled in evasion. Your mother would ask you why you were staring into space and you’d quickly mumble nothing. Bucky looked keen to ask the same but his blue eyes would dart away and he’d distract himself with work or a cup of coffee. His gaze made you even more anxious.

_What was it he saw in you?_

The day came and you were sad to see your mother go. Not just because you would miss her, but because she had provided a buffer between you and Bucky. Once she was gone, you’d be forced to face him. If he said those words to you,  _what would you do?_

You had become so enwrapped in untangling his emotions, you hadn’t taken time to understand your own. He was no longer the mysterious stranger; intimidating and aloof. He wasn’t James; the soft-spoken patron. He was Bucky; a man in recovery, scarred but strong. And he loved  _you_.

You helped your mom load her bags into the car. You had frowned as you watched the driver pull up. The time had gone much too quickly. Oscar pouted through the slats of the fence and Bucky emerged through the gate, his face falling as he spotted the waiting vehicle.

“Well, this looks like good-bye,” Your mother clapped her hands with resignation, “For now.”

“Yes, for now,” You repeated, “I’ll be coming home for the holidays. I promise. You can’t be alone on Christmas. Besides, I have to get back to reality. I’ve a dozen emails to answer and papers to finish…”

“You’ll be joining us too, Bucky,” She smiled at him as he approached, “No arguments.”

“Mom, he is a known fugitive, I don’t think–”

“If he keeps growing that hair out, he’ll not be recognized,” She chided, “And those CIA mongrels stopped sniffing around weeks ago. Apparently an old woman like me isn’t of much interest to them.”

“Do you have to leave?” You whined.

“I do,” She took your hand kindly, “You should be happy to see me off. You two need some alone time.”

She winked and you shook your head. There had been little point in hiding your relationship as she had figured it out so quickly. Bucky had warned you that he had let it slipped though he had not mentioned his late night breakdown.

“Take care of yourself,” She pulled you into a hug, “And him.” She released you and held you at arms length, “And Oscar. He’s wild but he’s got a good heart. I suspect he takes after his owner.”

You could sense the roll of Bucky’s eyes but he kept silent.

“I love you,” She let you go and turned to Bucky, “Both of you. You keep out of trouble.”

“I will,” He assured her.

“And keep my daughter out of trouble, too,” She grinned, “She has a knack for finding it despite herself.”

She opened her arms and Bucky accepted her embrace. The two of them got on quite well despite your mom’s innuendoes. Finally she backed away, reluctantly peering over her shoulder. “Well, I should go. That Shuri girl is meeting me at the airport. She’s sweet. Reminds me of you, Y/N.”

“Alright,” You gave a weak smile. “Bye, mom.”

“Bye,” She echoed sweetly, “I’ll call you when I’m home and you better answer.”

“I will, mom.”

“Goodbye,” Bucky said, taking your hand as you watched your mom near the car. She looked back one last time before climbing in and closing the door. You watched as the car started and the driver drove away, not moving until they were out of sight.

“I’m going to miss her,” Bucky rubbed his thumb along your hand, “At least she let me keep you.”

“Keep me?” You tilted your head at him, “Is that what this is?”

“You and my goats,” He kidded, “I’ve got a farm full of animals.”

“Quiet, old man,” You hissed, turning your head as he tried to peck your lips. Instead he kissed your cheek but seemed just as pleased with himself. “Why don’t you go and tend to your goats?”

* * *

The house felt listless after your mother’s departure. You left Bucky to the barn and cloistered yourself in the kitchen. You distracted yourself by scrubbing the already pristine countertops and mopping the ever scuffed floor. After, you mindlessly folded together ingredients, placing them in a loaf pan and staring at the oven door as the scent of cinnamon rose around you.

It was your mother’s recipe. Cinnamon raisin loaf; better than store bought. When you couldn’t sleep or if there was shopping still to be done, she would bake a loaf and butter up a slice for you. Never without a cup of tea.

She had made it that night when your stepfather had been arrested. After the cops had taken him away and neither of you could settle down. You touched your neck, recalling the bruises he had left there. It had been nearly two decades but it felt like yesterday.

The screen door shook you from your trance, the timer beeping in succession. You glanced over your shoulder at Bucky as you took the oven mitts and pulled out the bread. As you set it on the counter, he watched curiously and sniffed emphatically.

“Smells good,” He smiled.

“Thanks,” You turned the stove dial to ‘off’, dusting the leftover flour off your fingers.

“Are you…okay?” He neared cautiously.

“I’m fine,” You said, “I just miss her already.”

“Me, too,” His eyes searched yours, “Come on. I’ve got something to show you. It’ll take your mind off it.”

“Um, alright,” You shrugged and let him guide you to the door, “I swear, if it’s another trick you’ve taught Oscar…”

“No, no, come on.” He led you through the barn and into the yard, past the goats and to the far fence. He leaned against the top slat and pointed to the sky. “Look.”

You followed his gaze to the horizon, the sky a deep violet, rippled with pale pinks and blues. The sun was in its descent, casting a kaleidoscope of colours over the tall grasses and lush trees. In all your time in Wakanda, you had never taken a moment to stop and look at the sky.

“It’s beautiful,” You breathed, your lips curving slightly.

He slung his arm over your shoulders and you leaned your head against him as you watched the horizon. You forgot the grief of your mother’s absence for the masterpiece before you. This was how you should have been living all these years. Not for the past or in the shadow of it, but in the present. You had been blind to so much.

“James,” You said, snaking your arm around his torso, “I love you.”

You felt him tense for just a moment, his arm growing tighter around your shoulders. He breathed across your hair and kissed the crown of your head. “I love you, too.”


	37. Chapter 37

Having your mother for a week had reconnected you with reality. You had work to do still and grant money hanging over you. You would have to stick to your commitments. On the farm, it felt like another life but you couldn’t run forever. So it was that you sat yourself before your laptop and stared at your inbox.

You had done more in less time and by New Years, all that remained of your former life would be complete. Perhaps it would be good to reconnect with your historian whims. You still had an innate love for the past but letting go was new to you.

As you sorted between junk and important e-mails, your computer chimed and another message appeared;  _‘Fwd: The Wakandan Cultural Society’._ The sender was even more unexpected. Your phone rang just as you clicked on the new mail.

“Shuri,” You answered, “Perfect timing.”

“I take it you saw my e-mail,” She replied.

“I have but I can’t read that fast,” You muttered as you scanned its contents, “The World’s Fair is coming to Wakanda?”

“It is and we’re going to change it! Rewind the colonial narrative,” She sounded excited.

“And?”

“And we want you to help! You have the qualifications.” She sang.

“Mmm, but I still have much to learn about Wakanda. Wouldn’t you think this preferential treatment?”

“Actually, it was my brother’s request that I forward the e-mail. We both heard your paper at the conference. You bring a special voice to the past but keep it connected with the present. Better, you have the foresight to weave it into the future. 

“This is Wakanda’s introduction to the global stage. I’ll be handling the tech side and you’ll be helping with the cultural and historical. And you’ll not be the only non-Wakandan. We want to tie in different perspectives. We want to address the colonial origins of the expo and show that our nation’s mission to realign the world order.”

“It sounds like a tall order…” You scrolled up and down anxiously, “I don’t really know that I’m cut out for this. I’m not a curator anymore and I have other work to do.”

“And you’ll get it done before you start. Besides, what else do you do on that goat farm? You can’t laze about for the rest of your life. Tell me you aren’t growing restless out in the wildlands.”

“Hmmm,” You sighed, sitting back as you heard Bucky’s voice muffled through the window. He was out in the yard as usual. You were to join him for your daily workout in an hour. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t you dare use him as an excuse. You still have your own life, girl. You still have a brain and you should get some use of it.” She said sharply, “I know you’re in the rapture of new love but don’t let it consume you. He survived on his own before.”

“You said T’Challa requested me?”

“He did! A genius, sometimes. I hadn’t even thought of it myself, but of course, I’m young and many don’t come to me for royal declarations.”

“Let me think about it. How long do I have?”

“A week,” She answered, “I think you can find the courage to tell Goat Boy before then.”

“Right,” You stood, stretching your legs, “I’ll call you when I’ve decided.”

You hung up before she could give any further sass. The offer was intriguing. You could handle it alongside the few papers you had left. You had pulled all-nighters before and had grown skilled in the practice of insomnia.

But Shuri shouldn’t have warned you against your relationship. She didn’t know how easily consumed you were with work. Your own mind would grow so fixated and your default was to bury yourself in academia. You weren’t worried about Bucky, you were worried about you.

One week. Seven days. It didn’t feel long enough.

* * *

You stared at Bucky over your plate, chewing slowly. He seemed unbothered; unaware of the inner turmoil you had been fighting in those last days. Likely he assumed you were still adjusting to your mother’s absence. Or that your work kept you distracted.

You swallowed and set down your fork. You just weren’t hungry. The chicken was bland to your tongue and the veggies mushy. Your anxiety was turning everything repulsive.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky finally spoke. His plate was empty and no longer so interesting.

“I was just thinking,” You realized your gaze had turned distant; glazed. You must’ve looked a zombie sitting across from him.

“What are you thinking about?” He sat back and rubbed his stomach, “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“Have I?” You acted dumb.

“Yes, you have. Surely you can’t have that much work.”

“I have…enough,” You sighed. You brushed back your hair with your fingers and fidgeted. You shifted on the chair and chewed your lip. He watched you evenly, his blue eyes piercing.

“Just ask me. Whatever it is you’ve been tiptoeing around.”

You scrunched your lips up and rubbed your neck. You weren’t so subtle as you thought. He had noticed your kisses growing detached, your words thin.

“I got an offer for a job here in Wakanda.” You began, setting your fingers on the table’s edge to keep them from twiddling, “The World’s Fair is to be held here and they need cultural consultants.”

“Oh?” His brows shot up, “You should do it.”

“What?”

“You should do it. You would be perfect for it. You’re good at what you do and this would be like curating one big museum. One the whole world would see,” He smiled, “Did Shuri ask you?”

“T’Challa requested it actually,” You shrugged, “I thought…I don’t know. I guess I thought you’d rather I be here.”

“I’d never hold you back, Y/N. You can go out and be amazing and come home to me. Really, I think it would be good for you. And me. I feel awful knowing I cost you your job at the museum.”

“Well, then, I guess…I will,” You gave a weak smile, “It’s going to be weird going back to the real world.”

“At first, but I know you’ll figure it out,” His face was alight, “I’m so proud of you.”

“Proud?”

“Yes. Every day.” He said as he stood, gesturing to your plate as he gathered up his own, “You done?”


	38. Chapter 38

It was your last day before your new job. It had been over a decade since you had been the novice. Sure, you had reset after the museum but writing wasn’t anything new. Now, you were in a new country, a new relationship, and a new career path. Your stomach swirled with anxiety. _  
_

_Would you be any good? Would it be worth it to try?_

Bucky seemed more excited than you over the prospect. Shuri had already sent you a dozen academic articles and even delivered a few books to begin your research. Tomorrow, you would meet with the board selected by the Wakandan Cultural Society. You were to focus on bringing the country into the global context; to connect a traditionally isolationist country with the world.

You were on your second cup of coffee when Bucky awoke. You had been fighting insomnia since accepting the job. You stared at the same page you had been reading for the last hour. It was interesting but you couldn’t keep your thoughts from straying. You felt perfectly underprepared.

“Morning,” He grumbled, “How long have you been awake?”

“Not long,” You shrugged; an easy lie. Time was relative, and relative to how long you had slept, it wasn’t very much at all. “Goats are fed.”

“Yeah?” He poured himself a coffee with a yawn. He set the mug on the island and sat down across from you, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“No worries. I’m restless. I need to distract myself.”

“I think you’ve done enough of that.” He shook his head, “I went to school with a girl like you. Betty; always had her nose in a book.”

You frowned at him as you stiffly closed the cover of the tome before you. You finished the lukewarm dregs of your coffee with a shudder. “I don’t know this country. How am I to do this?”

“I’m sure, a long time ago, there was a time when you didn’t know a single thing about history, but you learned. You became an expert, and you can do that again.” He smiled, “You’re too hard on yourself.”

“I went through years of schooling to get to where I was, and what did that get me. One mistake and it was all over. All that I did learn of Wakanda was a lie; carefully molded to hide their truth.” You leaned on your elbows, “All this history hidden from the world and I have to catch up.”

“And you will,” He assured, “One day at a time.”

You squinted at him. “When did you become such an optimist?”

“I don’t know,” He chuckled, “When did you become such a pessimist?”

“Touche,” You allowed, rising and crossing to the sink to rinse your cup.

You phone vibrated atop the island, Bucky reached out and flipped it over. He read from the screen; a small grin quickly hidden.

“What’s it say?” You asked.

“I’d rather not be the bearer of bad news,” He set the phone back as he had found it, “But I suspect you’ll be quite distracted for the rest of your day. Really, it’s what you wanted.”

You came up beside him and grabbed your phone, swiping upwards to reveal the latest notification. _Shuri: ‘Okoye is on her way.’_

You quickly locked the phone and nearly slammed it on the island. Bucky’s arm snaked around your waist and he pulled you closer to him. He turned on his stool and laid a kiss on your cheek.”Better go get ready.”

“One day…” You muttered under your breath, resisting another kiss as you turned you lips away from him.

“One day what?” He asked coyly.

“One day, I’m going to know how to kick your ass,” You looked at him sharply, “And I might just do it.”

* * *

Okoye was too fast. Or maybe you were too slow. You were out of breath, bruised, and exhausted. You could have blamed your lack of sleep but you were certain you were just hopeless. It was your first day of actual combat training and you felt entirely incompetent.

You were bent over, holding your hips and panting. Your trainer stepped towards you causing you to flinch and stumble backwards. You crashed into the dirt heavily with a cry. Okoye shook her head and chuckled.

“Don’t be afraid,” She offered her hand and pulled you back to your feet, “I was only going to say…” She looked you over; sweat across your forehead and dirt now caked over your clothing. “You’re not entirely bad.”

“Oh gee, thanks,” You replied dryly.

“No, really. You are unhoned but you have determination. And you’re in much better shape than the last time I was here,” She was an intimidating figure, thus her compliments sound more patronizing than genuine. “The American has helped you, no?”

“He has,” You admitted, “Little good it’s done.”

“Now you listen to me. I was trained for this my whole life. I have served Wakanda since I was a girl. You are starting late but it doesn’t mean you cannot learn.” She rested her hand on your shoulder firmly, “I would not be here if I did not think so.”

“Hmmp,” You pursed your lips at her. You didn’t feel like you had learned anything but how to get hit. The bruises you felt forming only added to your defeat. “Thanks.”

“Now, you should stretch or you’ll feel even worse.” She ordered, “Tomorrow, you’ll meet me in the city after you’ve finished your work. Shuri says you finish at three. I expect you within the hour.”

“What?” You blanched, “But I–”

“Need the practice,” She affirmed, “Daily. It’ll hurt for a time but you will come to tolerate the pain, and maybe even get in a few jabs yourself.”

“Maybe…” You scoffed, bringing your arm up to behind your cool down, “One day…”

“That’s the spirit,” She said mockingly, crossing her arms nonchalantly.

* * *

When you returned to the house, it smelled delicious. After bidding a somewhat bitter, dreading goodbye to Okoye, you entered to find Bucky in the kitchen. A large pot was boiling on top of the stove and the oven set off a glow of heat. You groaned as you dragged yourself to the island and watched him peek inside the pot.

“Potatoes are almost done,” He announced, “And fingers crossed, I remembered this recipe correctly…it’s been about seventy years.”

“I’m not picky,” You assured him.

“How was your work-out?” He turned to you with a smile, his cheek red from the heat. “You ready to kick my ass yet?”

You narrowed your eyes and stared a moment before returning a smile. “Exhausting,” You admitted, “And I have to meet her again after work tomorrow.”

“Oh? That should be…fun.”

“That’s not the word I’d use,” You sighed, “Anyways, I’m done worrying about tomorrow. I’ve done so for nearly a week straight. What’s for dinner?”

“Stuffed chicken,” He said proudly, “My mother used to make it…Admittedly, I’m not as gifted in the kitchen as her.”

“I’d eat a plate at this point,” You grumbled, “But I’m sure it’ll be good.”

“I hope so,” He round the island, “It’ll be some time yet so…” He leaned in as if to kiss you, touching your cheek as he pretended to sniff, “Why don’t you go get washed up, smelly?”

You tilted your head, sneering as you pulled away. “You think you smell wonderful all the time, Goat Boy?”

“I know I smell like a barn,” He shrugged, getting closer again, “But I’m not as cute when I’m mad.”

“Stop,” You crossed your arms, turning your head away from him as he tried to kiss you. Instead he caught your cheek but seemed just as content to leave a peck there. “I’ll leave you to your work, Betty Crocker.”

“Hey!” He feigned affront as you backed away, “I got that reference.”

“Ha,” You scoffed, “Good. Now be a good housewife and have supper on the table when I’m done.”

You gave a sly smirk and turned to the door, nearly skipping through into the living room. Little moments like those helped you forget the stress piling up on your shoulders. You were glad to have Bucky, but you were just as nervous to leave him the next day.


	39. Chapter 39

You had slept more in the car than you had in the last three nights. So it was that you were dabbing the sleep from your eyes, careful not to mess your mascara. You had woken early to make yourself look human. After so long around goats, you were paranoid that you were slowly morphing into one. At the same time, deja vu washed over you; early morning, stuffy blouse, tweed pants. But it would all be so new.

Bucky woke at the same time as you. You weren’t sure if it was out of instinct or planning, but he had greeted you in the kitchen with a cup of coffee and a smile. When the car arrived and you reluctantly hooked your bag on your shoulder, he kissed you and spoke as if you were a child off to their first day at school. Pulling up to your destination, you couldn’t recall clearly the words you had exchanged with him.

Even so early in the morning, the streets of Wakanda were lively. You called a thank you to your driver as you stepped out, starring up at the massive building before you. Hundreds of polished windows reflected its surrounding, the early morning light streaming through shadows down the glass. This was much bigger than the museum.

You walked up to the door, distressed to find entrance required a keycode. Your heart was racing. Shuri hadn’t mentioned that. You found the small metallic button which served as a doorbell, the slots of a speaker below. You waited for a response, the voice coming in the native language. Again, the panic bubbled in your stomach.

“Hello,” You spoke into the speaker box, hoping they understood, “I’m just starting my first day here but I haven’t any…um, code.”

“No problem at all, hun,” The accented voice called, “I’ll let you in. Just come to the front desk and I’ll get you your credentials. It’s just straight ahead as you enter.”

The intercom went dead and followed by the click of the door as it unlocked. You grabbed the handle, opening the glass door and scurrying inside. Your flats slid on the smooth marble, gold and black rippling its surface. You nearly slipped as you came up to the front desk; a large black hexagonal table with a single woman at its center. She spun in her chair to face you and smiled; her teeth straight and white, her skin dark and without blemish, her long black hair finely curled and tipped with deep red.

“Hi, um, I’m Y/N. I’m just starting here. I’m suppose to be, uh, working on the World’s Fair with the Cultural Society.”

“Alright, one moment, just let me look you up,” The woman gave a comforting smile. A golden name plate read Oreta C’han. She began to swipe her fingers across the screen set into the desk; you wished you had been granted such a sleek device back in the museum. You recalled your clunky PC and the slog of time it took to boot. “Here we are.”

She stood, moving around behind the spacious desk. She reached into a shelf and pulled out a small packet, shuffling through a pile of papers and placing both before you on the desk. “There you go.” She searched just in front of her chair and revealed another sheet, “A map should help too.” She took a highlighter and began to trace a path. “You’re headed for the ninth floor. When you get there, you’ll want to head to the conference room. You’re quite early but it should be unlocked. D’ana Gilroz, she’s the history chair, she’s heading up the project. She’ll get you sorted.”

“Thank you,” You took the packet and papers as she slid them towards you.

You bid Oreta a good day and crossed to the elevators; their belts and gears visible through the clear glass. The doors pinged open and you stepped inside, looking through the doors as you began to ascend. You could never refuse to hold the doors for any. Elevator rides were awkward enough, but these allowed no underhanded tactics in hopes of a solitary ride.

When the number nine lit up, you exited and carefully traced the highlighted path from the map. The conference room was open; two black doors were propped open but the seats within were empty. You hugged your packet and papers to your chest, entering hesitantly and finding a seat near the end of the table.

You had sunk into your thoughts, your drowsiness flurried with apprehension. The tapping of heels interrupted your silent dread and a tall woman entered; her natural curls, tight and wild, framing her finely boned face. She set down her bag at the head of the table, nearly squeaking as she noticed you.

“Oh, you’re early,” She lilted with a husky giggle, “You must be Y/N? I think I recall your face from the conference. I certainly remember your paper.”

“Really?” You were surprised that any but yourself recalled your work.

“Well, I did organize the whole event. It’d be a pity if I didn’t get to enjoy all the hard work. I’m D’ana Gilroz,” She neared and held out a hand as you rose to meet her. You shook her hand and smile nervously. “Well,” She checked her watch, “I think we have enough time to see you to your office before everyone else arrives.”

You nodded, nervously gathering up your purse and welcome package. She led you out of the conference room and to a door on the corner. You were surprised to see your name already etched into its sleek black face. She opened it and let it fall inward, waving you inside.

“We have a few new advisors settling in today. Me and the other chairs are excited to finally begin. And you’ll not be alone. We have several non-Wakandan scholars working with us.” D’ana leaned against the doorf rame, “I’ll give you some time to get settled. Try to go through that packet a little before the orientation. You’ve about twenty minutes before the others start straggling in.”

“Alright, thank you.” You smiled, though it likely looked like a cringe.

She left you, leaving your door open as you crossed to the desk and set down your things. You tucked your purse under the desk, taking out your phone briefly to text Bucky that you had arrived and you would call later. You hoped his new phone lasted long enough for you to do so, even with the tactical strength case Shuri had included with it. You opened the packet, looking through the contents as you tried to ease your nerves. A black and gold pen, a name plate to slide into the plaque on on the desk, a flash drive, and several other miscellany. You swept all but the pen into the drawer and quickly scanned through the papers. You tucked them into your notebook and slipped the pen into your pocket. There was a lot to catch up on.

Finally, you decided it had been long enough and continued back to the conference room. Another had arrived and was sitting in the seat you had previously chosen. Her sandy hair was familiar and the way she tugged on her cuffs anxiously. You neared and set down your notebook beside her, sitting as you waited for her too look up. She didn’t. She was much too terrified to do anything but stare at the desk before her.

“Colleen,” You whispered. The mousy woman you had met at the conference jolted, nearly toppling the chair beneath her. Her hazel eyes met yours, brightening from fright to surprise.

“Y/N!” She exclaimed, though her voice was rarely louder than room volume. It was loud for her.

“Hey, I’m so happy to see a familiar face.”

“Me, too.” She smiled sheepishly, “Especially here. I feel like I don’t know anything about this country.”

“Same…and I’ve been her for months,” You grumbled, crossing your arms as you swiveled back and forth on the chair.

“You have?” She asked in confusion.

“Um, yeah. Been looking for a job,” You lied, “I told you about the museum when we met.”

“Yeah, it’s too bad. I’ve been dying for museum work since uni. Alas, the archives beckon.”

“If only we had met years ago, I’d have gladly traded places,” You kidded.

Colleen’s frantic energy calmed your own. You were relieved not to be the only outsider, or the only one crippled with anxiety. You leaned on the arm of the chair and looked to the door as another person entered; this one a stranger. At least, you had one friend in this venture.


	40. Chapter 40

You had made it past the first week. That period when you were still trying to get your bearings and plant your feet steadily. There were moments when you would have to stop and gather yourself. Flashes of deja vu. The museum felt so far off but it had barely been half a year. Those sparks of familiarity encouraged you. You weren’t entirely unqualified.

Every day got easier. You attended the daily meeting, filled your planner with to dos, and began checking them off throughout the day. Often you found yourself working with Colleen or another historian in your department. The World’s Fair was to show the unwinding of global history around the nation of Wakanda and you were to contextualize the nation within the world. Introducing a hidden history to make sense of the present. It was exciting and more often than not, you had work to bring home.

You were trying not to fall back into old habits. You would limit yourself to one hour a night. You forced your books closed, set down your pen, and went to see Bucky. Often he was still in the yard with his brood of goats or in the kitchen doing one chore or the other. You took turns cooking but he had caught you more than once burning food as you let yourself sneak a book onto the counter. You couldn’t help it. You were uncovering a whole world you had never known; one you had lived in for the last months but seemed straight out of fiction.

You rubbed your eyes as you and Colleen sorted through your notes. You yawned as you leaned over the desk, trying to make sense of the endless lines of words.

“We should have snapshots of colonialism interspersed. Think of it this way,” You swallowed another yawn as you spoke, “While Wakanda is prospering outside the purview of Western exploration, other peoples are losing their land, being converted, and set to slavery. We see Wakanda making the same technological and social footsteps faster than those colonial powers. We see them following a less exploitative path so we must contrast that with the stark disparities of the world going on around them. A country works together to advance their technology, while minorities are exposed to deathly conditions building railroads, etc.

“We see Wakanda building happily, communally, but then we see the cruelty of colonialism. Remember, we’re not condemning the rest of the globe, we’re reconciling. Wakanda could have been present, could have changed the course of imperialism, but they chose to remain isolated. It’s complicity which is now to be co-operation.”

“Mmm,” Colleen squinted at a paper, “You’ve said it much better than I could have.”

A knock came at the open door, causing both of you to jump from your half-slumped postures. You hadn’t noticed the figure standing in the doorway but you knew he must have been there for a few minutes. You couldn’t help but smile at Bucky. He looked out of place as he hesitated at the threshold of your office, his one hand lingering on the door. Colleen looked between you, her face crinkled with confusion.

Bucky wasn’t in his usual goat-herding attire. His hair was brushed and his thickening beard was neatly combed. He wore a warm grey dress shirt, the arm pinned at his shoulder so that it fit him snugly, with finely-tailored trousers of a slightly darker, checkered shade of slate. His shoes were freshly polished and a matching belt rounded his waist.

“Who’s this?” Coleen asked, “I didn’t see him at the meetings.”

“That’s because he doesn’t work here,” You stood, checking the time on the gold-face wall clock. It was well past quitting time. “This is, um…” You paused, looking to Bucky before continuing, “My boyfriend, um, James.”

“James,” She stretched as she rose. She looked him over, her eyes flicking away at his lack of arm as her cheeks coloured. “I’m Colleen.”

She held out her left arm but quickly switched hands as he reached out to shake hers. It was an honest mistake but she mumbled hurried apologies. You could tell Bucky was somewhat amused by her natural skittishness.

“I, uh, oh, would you look at the time,” She squeaked, “I should go back to my own, um, office. Excuse me.”

Bucky flattened himself against the door as she brushed past him, fleeing with a click of heels. You chuckled as you neatened the papers atop your desk and he stepped up to the other side. You looked up at him as you closed the folder in your hands and placed it beside your keyboard.

“So, what are you doing here?” You asked.

“Surprising you,” He answered, “I was at Shuri’s lab and I thought it’d be nice to drop in.”

“Yeah,” You raised a brow at is unusual dress, “Just at Shuri’s lab?”

“Steve dropped in, he was with me,” He explained, chewing his lip.

“Okay?” You side-stepped the desk, reaching out to still his twiddling fingers, “Well, I’m all done for the day.”

He smiled, seeming to find his confidence. “I think you’ll recall I promised you a real date…if you’re not to tired, I thought tonight?”

“Oh, is that why you look so snazzy?” You teased, “Well, as long as you don’t mind me looking like a librarian.”

“I think you look wonderful,” He grinned.

“Right, well, let me just get my stuff together and we’ll be off,” You set your purse on your desk and began packing up, “I can’t believe you’re here, really.”

“Me either,” He said shyly, “It’s kinda weird being away from the farm.”

You zipped up your bag and looked at him again. You wondered if Shuri had helped him get ready? Or maybe Steve? It was a slightly funny to imagine. “So did you have fun at the lab?” You hooked your purse over your shoulder and neared him.

“Yeah, it was pretty…interesting,” He said, “It’s hard to believe this place sometimes…to believe the times.” He let you precede him out the door, closing it behind himself as he followed you down the hallway, “You’ll have to get me out of here. I got a bit lost on my way up.”

“Don’t worry, I still get lost too,” You grinned as he came up beside you and twined his fingers through yours. “I guess…you’re, like, a hundred years old now?” The thought struck you.

“Yeah, close to,” He shrugged, “To be honest, I’m having a bit of a crisis over it.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just all those years I spent under Hydra’s control…feels like lost time.” He squeezed your hand as you stopped in front of the elevators and pressed the button with your free hand, “I’m trying to make up for it now…with you.”


	41. Chapter 41

It was odd sitting across from Bucky in a public setting. The last time you had been at a restaurant, he had been James. He still was to you. He wasn’t a fugitive or a weapon; he was only the man who had serendipitously turned up in your museum. Who had led you to Wakanda and a new exciting life. And he was trying to cut his steak with one hand.

“Here,” You offered quietly, hoping not to embarrass him. You reached across and poked your fork into the sirloin, “I’ll hold it. You cut.”

He nodded and gave a meek smile which was more a frown. He diligently sawed the steak into pieces and you rescinded your arm, returning to your haddock fillet. “Times like these, I kinda miss the arm,” His voice was low, “Still getting used to being without it.”

“It’s fine, you’ve got me,” You offered, “You know, I have two arms and today I dropped an entire file of proposals.”

Bucky’s mouth curled in a genuine grin and he sipped his water, trying to hide his amusement at the thought. “Well…I guess I’m not that bad.”

“If, um…” You stopped yourself, afraid to ask the question which had suddenly come to mind. You chewed your cheek and thought better of it. “Never mind.”

“No, please, what is it?” Bucky stabbed a square of steak, “You can ask me anything.”

“Well, I, uh, was just wondering…” You peeked at the sleeve tailored to his shoulder. “What exactly…happened to your arm? Why did you get rid of it?”

“Oh…” He chewed his steak, his blue eye looking skyward as he thought. He swallowed and a grim shade washed over him, “I didn’t exactly have the choice. In a fight, you might get out alive, but not always in one piece.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“Please, don’t,” He interjected, “I don’t want you to feel bad. I want you to know everything about me. Even the stuff that wasn’t really me.”

“I have another question,” You said pointedly.

“Okay?” He waited nervously.

“I know you were trying to be covert but, uh, why did you never let me see your arm?”

His brow wrinkled as he pursed his lips, his eyes searching yours. He twirled his fork between his fingers and sighed. “Because the arm isn’t me and to you I wasn’t the arm. I was just James…I hope you never have to see me wear it. Ever.”

A silence rose between you. You could sense his embarrassment. His frustration. You took a bite of your fish, wording your apology carefully in your head. You opened your mouth but his voice kept yours from rising.

“Don’t apologize,” His expression had softened, his tone too, “I don’t want you to see it because that would mean there’s fight and I don’t want to fight anymore.” He set down his fork, reaching across the table, his hand welcoming yours. You took it and he squeezed your hand warmly. “And I know you’re foolish enough to follow me into battle.”

You scoffed, rubbing his knuckles beneath your thumb. “Any day,” You vowed.

* * *

Bucky drove home. The car was allegedly a gift from Shuri, though it looked much too expensive to be simply given away. Also, Bucky was a terrifying driver. He had taken the city streets like a pinball machine as he raced around corners and barely slowed to a stop at lights. Once past the urban maze, he sped across the Wakandan plains, his foot never leaving the gas. You were dizzy as you pulled up to the farmhouse.

“I think I’ll drive next time,” You said as you climbed out of the car, “Jesus, when was your last driving evaluation?”

“Yeah, um….1930-something?” He closed his door with a grin, “They were a lot more relaxed back then.”

“Must’ve been,” You grumbled playfully, coming up beside him as he headed for the front door. “Thank you for not killing us on the way home…and dinner, of course.”

“Not at all,” He opened the front door, holding it open as he waited for you to go through.

As you entered, you felt around in the pitch dark for the lamp, nearly knocking it over as you found it. You switched it on, the living room only half-lit. You could see, at least. You kicked your flats off onto the mat and dropped your purse on the coffee table. You turned back as Bucky unlaced his shoes clumsily with his single hand, leaving them beside your own as he stood.

“What a long day,” You yawned, “But fun.”

“I hope your not too tired,” He neared, touching you cheek as he leaned down to rub the end of his nose against yours. He placed a kiss on your lips, hungry but restrained. You smiled despite your fatigue.

“Not that tired,” You said as you pulled away. You snaked your arms around him, pulling him closer, “Really, thank you for today.”

“You’ve been working hard,” He breathed, “You deserve it…and I miss you.”

“Aww,” You teased, “Is Oscar not enough for you?”

“Don’t ruin the moment,” He warned as he stooped to kiss you again.

His lips were urgent, ravenous. You were almost surprised by his fervour, his touch often gentle; reticent, as if he was afraid of himself. You kissed him back, hugging him tighter as his hand rested on your hip. As the heat built between you, you leaned back on your foot, reluctant to draw away from him. Your foot wobbled beneath you and suddenly you were falling backwards, the man attached to your mouth going with you.

You landed with a thump, keeping your head from cracking against the floor as you parted from Bucky’s lips. You laughed as he landed atop you, his weight driving the air out of you so that your giggles were raspy. He leaned on his elbow, his hand cradling your head as he looked you over with wide eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” You chuckled, regaining your voice, “Wonderful!”

His fear faded and he smiled back at you. You reached up to brush your fingers through his beard, his face was growing fuzzier by the day. The hair was soft and thick. Your thumb brushed his cheekbone and you traced the line of his jaw. Your eyes followed your hand, admiring every inch. The heat of his eyes caught yours, their depths filled with fire.

“You’re so beautiful,” He whispered softly, leaning closer to kiss your lips. “I love you.” He laid a trail of kisses across your cheek, nuzzling your neck with a purr. His breath tickled and you giggled once more, squirming beneath him.

“Bucky,” You said quietly, but he ignored you as he started to nibble at your throat. “Bucky,” You hissed, tugging gently on a shank of his long dark hair. He lifted his head and looked at you, his face a mix of desire and concern.

“I’d much rather prefer a bed to the floor,” You shifted under him with a smirk. His eyes brightened in realization, his lips twitching at the corners.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

“Goddamnit, James, just help me up,” You snarled.

He chuckled and pushed himself to his feet, careful not to crush you in the process. He pulled you up swiftly by the hand and you clung to him as you turned to lead him through the kitchen. You released him as you opened his bedroom door and he flicked the light switch behind you. His fingers caressed the back of your neck, sending a shiver down spine as he traced it. His hand lingered on your bottom, squeezing it with vigour as you squeaked in surprise.

You turned to him, reaching out to place your hands on his shoulders, running your hands down his chest as you felt the muscle beneath. You drew him closer, kissing him as you focused on fumbling with his buttons, slowly loosening them. His own hand tugged the tails of your blouse free of your waistband, his fingers venturing beneath to feel the flesh of your stomach. His index and middle finger slipped beneath your belt, toying with the lacy elastic of your panties.

His shirt fell open at last and you shoved it down his shoulders. He removed his hand from your hip to untangle his wrist, letting the fabric fall to the floor. You parted from him and tore your own shirt over your head, tossing it with his own. He smiled, amused by your eagerness. You looked him over, tracing the lines of his midriff with your hands, lingering on the scars which rippled his flesh. He flinched as you touched the mottled skin along his left shoulder and you kissed the scars softly. 

Bucky nudged you backwards towards the bed, his hand fumbling with the zipper of your trousers. You reached down to help him, slipping your pants past your hips so that they pooled at your feet. He hummed as he pulled at the lace trim of your white panties and you set to unbuckling his belt. His hand stilled yours, running up your arm as he guided you closer to the bed.

The back of your knees met the mattress and you sat, the springs bouncing beneath you. Bucky bent over you, his lips on yours as he kissed you again. His hand tugged at your hair clip, freeing your locks from their twist. He pulled away, lowering himself to his knees and pushing himself between yours legs. He reached over you, expertly unhooking your bra. You were surprised at his swiftness.

You slipped the straps down your arms, flinging your bra away from you. You framed Bucky’s face with your hands, leaning down to meet his lips as his hand caressed your side, pausing to cup your breast. His lips left yours, inching down your neck and throat, grazing your collarbone and chest. He nuzzled between your breast, his hand toying with the left as his mouth explored the other. You tangled your fingers in his hair as a tingle spread through you, running the length of your back.

He lowered his hand, feeling every curve, every inch of flesh. His roughened fingertips brushed across the lace of your panties, catching the fabric. You leaned back on your hand as you raised yourself slightly, helping him slip the underwear down your thighs. He rolled them until they were at your ankles and you kicked them away. He ran his nose along your stomach, his warm breath spreading over you. He nipped at your hip bones and along your pelvis.

He hesitated for a moment, his hand tickling your inner thigh. He lowered his head and you welcomed him. His tongue was shy at first, careful and cloying. You shuddered as you longed for more, the heat gathering beneath his touch. He toyed with your clit, drawing circles with his tongue, suckling and lightly teething. You moaned as your thighs tensed around him and his beard brushed your flesh.

He lifted your leg to it over his shoulder and pressed closer. His hand travelled up your thigh, settling beneath your bottom as he began to knead hungrily. The sensations stirred together; his calloused hand against your rear, his warm tongue playing with you. You grabbed the back of his head as felt your climax nearing. Your back arched, your nails digging into his scalp as the tension broke and a river flowed through your veins, flames licking at your flesh. You cried out, trying to muffle it through your teeth as you writhed helplessly.

You let go of Bucky’s head and fell back onto the mattress, heart pumping and nerves swirling. Your hand was trembling as you brushed the hair away from your sweaty forehead, so enraptured that you had not noticed Bucky draw away from you. Your eyes were half-open as you watched him stand, pushing his pants and briefs down in a single move. Freeing himself from them, he neared and climbed onto the bed next to you, nestling against your side. You turned to kiss him, feeling him against your hip. You reached to touch his member, lightly tickling the base as he groaned. You trailed down his shaft, circling the head so that he shuddered against you.

You took him firmly in your hand, stroking him as he kissed you deeper. You pressed closer until he was on his back, teasing him. He whimpered as you released him, your hand brushing over his stomach and chest. You got to your knees carefully, moving to straddle him. You bent over him, pressing your mouth to his and nibbling his lip as you pulled away.

You felt around below, grasping his member and angling yourself over him. You rubbed the tip along your lips, pressing it to your entrance and carefully lowering yourself onto him. Bucky sighed as if relieved. You settled a top him, pausing as you basked in the feel of him. You moved slowly at first, your pace steady, deliberate. You leaned over him, his hand on the small of your back as your lips met.

You couldn’t stop kissing him as you carried your motion, the pace building little by little. There was a twisting inside of you; through your chest and stomach, an airiness filling your limbs. You squeezed him with your thighs as you longed draw him closer, deeper. You couldn’t get enough of him. His arm drew you nearer, your stomach against his as he turned the both of your onto your sides, staying inside of you.

You bent your legs further, his hand once more on your bottom. Her thrust into you deeper, but not harder. There was a fierceness to his motion but short of roughness. You gasped without meaning to, pressing your head back as he nuzzled against your neck, his teeth gently pinching your flesh. Your moans sounded with each breath, longer and louder. You hugged him closer, smothering him as your orgasm rose suddenly. Your muscles tensed and loosened, turning to liquid as you held onto Bucky.

He grunted into your neck, slowing as he hummed his climax. You felt his warmth spread through you and you gripped him tighter between your thighs. You breathed in time with him, your pants slowing to normal. You met his gaze as your body relaxed and you pecked his lips and smiled. He smiled back, his hand resting on your waist.

You exhaled and ran your thumb along his cheekbone, brushing his hair away from his face, “I love you, James.”


	42. Chapter 42

The last dregs of sleep slipped away, your eyes fluttering as you slowly woke up. A warmth surrounded you, the blanket crumpled at your waist in your nocturnal sweat. The morning air felt cool on your bare back as you lazily rubbed your eyes, your vision clearing. Bucky was snoring beside you, his dark hair fanned out across his head You had never seen him look so peaceful; he was almost smiling at whatever dreams were flashing through his head.

Bucky snorted and suddenly his eyes opened. His brows shot up as he looked around, the tension leaving him as he saw you. He reached up to touch his chest, shaking his head at himself. “Morning,” His voice was raspy and thick. He exhaled as you placed your hand atop his, his breath calming.

“Morning,” You returned, rubbing the back of his hand soothingly, “It’s my day off.”

“I know,” He smiled, twining his fingers through yours as he turned onto his side. He nestled closer to you, nuzzling his nose against yours before kissing you gently. He pressed his forehead to yours as he pulled away, his hand releasing yours as he slung his arm around your waist, holding you to him. His bare flesh was like as furnace against yours.

You ran your hand up his arm, across the thick muscles of his bicep, along his neck as he flinched at the sensation it sent through him. You cradled his face in your hand, caressing his jawline with your thumb as you lost yourself in his deep blue eyes. “What were you dreaming about?” You asked.

“You,” His fingers tickled your spine, “I thought when I woke it had all been a dream.”

You kissed him, assuring him it had all been real. His arm clung to you tightly, your leg pushing between his as you tangled your body with his. You lost yourself in his embrace, the heat building around you. Your passion was patient this time; slow and deliberate but not less fervent. You lingered, holding onto him as you caught your breath, your thighs still tingling as the afterglow enshrined you.

He laid flat on his back, his chest rising and falling as he closed his eyes. His cheeks were rosy, the shadow of a smile beneath his beard. You slowly reached out, touching the mottled flesh of his shoulder. He winced as you leaned closer, your hands messaging his rippled scars. You knew he was ashamed of them but you thought them the most beautiful part of him. It showed that he had survived.

“Y/N,” He breathed as you sat up,your eyes focused on the movement of your hands, your fingers tracing every scar. He frowned, staring at his shoulder in lament.

“Didn’t you notice the scars?” You asked, “My scars?”

“What?” His brows drew together in confusion.

You pulled away from him, sitting against the headboard beside him as you bent a leg to expose the inner flesh of your thigh. The lines were subtle, only visible if you were looking for them but they felt painfully obvious to you. They had been left there long ago.

“I used to…” You chewed your lip as you contemplated your confession, “In high school, I would cut myself. It was when my step-father lived with us.” He reached out to touch the thickest scar, his blue eyes concerned, “Just enough to feel the pain.”

“I didn’t even…” His voice trailed off as he sat up, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? I did it to myself,” You shrugged, “I won’t touch your scars if you’re not comfortable with it, but I think they’re beautiful and I don’t think you should be so embarrassed of them. We all have our scars, we wouldn’t be us without them.”

“I…You can, I just, uh, I’m not used to it, I guess,” He admitted as he rescinded his hand, “I don’t really touch them myself. I try not to even look at it.”

“I love you just the way you are,” You leaned against him, placing your head gently on his shoulder, “Scars and all.”

* * *

Okoye found you in the barn. You had Wilbur on your lap and Oscar at your feet. The small goatling had grown in your absence but hadn’t forgotten you. You were glad as you had missed the beasts terribly. You hadn’t noticed the Dora Milaje as she watched from the door. You had been cooing at the kid as she cracked her staff against the wall, scaring you to your feet.

“The White Wolf said you’d be here,” She greeted in her way, looking around the barn with blase eyes.

“White Wolf?” You echoed. It seemed every person had a different name for Bucky.

“Are you ready for our session?” She continued as if you had not spoke.

“Don’t have much of a choice, do I?” You set Wilbur aside and he went trotting off with Oscar. You were quite certain the two were related.

She smiled. She did that often but every one had a different meeting. “Sorry to ruin your honeymoon.” You tilted your head at her wryly but said nothing. “He reminds me of my king. The way he looks at you. It’s dangerous. I have often watched T’Challa trip over his own feet at the thought of his love.”

“What are we doing today?” You changed the subject.  _Was she not here to train you?_

“You don’t get off that easy,” She neared, planting her staff beside her, “One day, the White Wolf will have another fight. If you are serious about our sessions, you will be at his side, I know. You are as stubborn as my soldiers. You must be prepared to watch him fall. Battle has no prejudice and you must fight through the loss.

“There is more to be learned than how to throw a punch. You must prepare your mind. To accept that you might lose more than your own life,” Her face turned sombre, “This life you have made will not last forever. This world is not made for happy endings.”

You nodded, “I know,” Your voice was low as you dared to look her in the eye, “But I’d feel worse waiting for the news than to be there to see it myself. I would rather lose it all fighting than to sit on the sideline.”

She clapped her hand on your shoulder, bowing her head in a gesture of compassion, “Stupid, but brave. The best kind of warrior.” She praised, “Today, you will learn to hold a knife.” She smiled again, “Whether or not you can wield it, is another question.”


	43. Chapter 43

Bucky was fast. You had expected it but his speed was even more apparent when he was using it against you. You ducked and dodged, barely dipping under his parry as he wielded the practice knife against you. It didn’t pierce or slice your skin but it left a nice welt when it did strike and it did often. Your own blade had yet to get near your opponent.

Even so, you had improved. A week before he had repeatedly knocked your weapon from your hand and Okoye had only found it just as easy. It was embarrassing. Sure, you hadn’t taken up the art from a young age as they had, nor had you as much experience, but you still felt a dolt. When alone in the barn, you would practice. Even Oscar was a worthy opponent for you.

You veered away from Bucky’s next strike and rolled across the grass and around his legs. You managed to kick the back of his knee and he wavered; but he didn’t fall. He spun easily and nearly stomped your midriff. He was fearsome but was quick enough to stop himself when he knew he would hit true. You managed to roll away and his practice blade embedded in the grass next to your head. You had felt the air as it whisked through it like butter.

“You’re getting faster,” He smiled as you sprawled limply on your back, “But you shouldn’t hold back. I can take it. If you had kicked with your full force, I would’ve gone down.”

“I know,” You exhaled; your cheeks burning with excess, “I should’ve.” You tossed your knife onto the ground, “I just…I can’t hurt you.”

“Y/N, listen,” He turned sombre as he lowered himself into the grass next to you, legs bent as he crossed his arms over them. “You might have to one day. I hope it doesn’t come to that but I’ve slipped before. A few words and my programming takes over. For all Shuri’s efforts, I can’t say it’s not still there, under the surface. If it did happen, nothing would stop me. Not even you. So if I ever come for you, you hit me with everything you got.”

“Oh, jeez, Mr. Downer, I was just trying to be sappy,” You touched his hand. His eyes had turned steely and his jaw was clenched. He was the man he had been in your museum; lost, afraid. Running from himself.

“Promise me.” He squeezed your hand, “I don’t want to wake up one day with your blood on my hands.”

You sighed and squeezed his hand in turned. You sat up and shimmied closer, “I promise, I’ll fight you with everything. Or _him_.” You touched his cheek with your free hand, “That isn’t you. That’s Hydra, not James.”

“I know,” He took your hand and kissed your palm, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” You said, “Now, I don’t want to spend the rest of our Sunday moping around. I thought we were over that.”

“We are. Besides, we still have work to do,” He stood, pulling you with him, “Something new to start on.”

He bent and retrieved the knives from the grass. He tucked them away in the case he had brought along to the field. He pulled out a silver handgun, holding it with his knees as he loaded it. He flipped the handle towards you, the reluctance plain in his eyes. “I promised Okoye I’d get your started on firearms. She says it might be your only hope.”

“She really has  _so_  much faith in me,” You said dryly, eyeing the gun warily.

“It’s always good to have a back up,” He pressed the gun into your hand, “Here.”

He made you grip the handle and brought your arm up. “That post,” He said as he brought up your other arm, “Try to hit it.” He slipped behind you, “Like this.” He adjusted your hold once more.

“You flirting with me?” You teased as he pressed against your back, “Or trying to teach me?”

“A bit of both,” He stepped away, “Aim and squeeze the trigger. Make sure you breathe.”

“Right,” You exhaled, realizing you had been holding the air in your lungs. You steadied yourself and focused on the fence post. Thankfully the goats had been herded into the barn during your session. You narrowed your eyes and pressed; the kickback harsh but you kept yourself upright. Slowly, you lowered the gun and squinted.

“Wow,” Bucky clapped your shoulder as he passed. He ran down the field as you kept the barrel towards the dirt and he bent to examine the fence. “A dead shot.” He mused as he fingered the post, “I’ll have to replace this…I didn’t really expect to have to.”

“Really?” You called to him.

“Yeah. Beginner’s luck,” He stood and approached, standing behind you once more, “Finish the clip. Let’s see if it was a fluke or not.”

“Okay,” You bit your lip and lined up your shot, trying to recall how he had placed your arms. You set your shoulders and fired again. Again. Again. Until there was nothing left.

“Let’s check this out,” He nudged you as he led you across the field. You followed, surprised to find the post splintered and ready to fold in on itself. “Well, imagine that. The curator is a natural.” He put his hands on his hips appraisingly, “You didn’t miss a single one.”

“Oh,” You leaned closer and counted the bullets. Sure enough, all six were embedded in the wood.

“Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t practice, but…wow,” He smiled and reached out to take the gun from you, “Okoye will be happy to hear this.” He examined the handgun with a smirk, “It’s kind of sexy.”

“Oh, yeah? Books and dead people aren’t intriguing enough for you?” You mused.

“You’re enough for me,” He leaned forward and pecked your cheek, “But there are certain perks which make it better.”

“Yeah? Well you’ve still only got one arm and I still can’t beat you,” You grumbled, “Not many perks.”

“It takes time,” He chided, “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“And what do I do with an opponent who has all his limbs?”

“That’s what Okoye is for,” He frowned and looked down at his left shoulder.

“James,” You said softly.

“It’s…not you. I don’t care that it’s gone. I prefer it that way,” He sighed and began back across the field as you walked with him, “I pray it stays gone. For both our sakes.” You watched silently as he replaced the gun in the case, “The arm was a weapon, it was never truly mine. It isn’t a part of me. It isn’t  _me_.” He stood and lifted the case. “Can you love a one-armed geezer like me?”

“The arm is the least of your issues,” You grinned and poked his side teasingly, “Come on.” You looked to the barn door; it shook at the mercy of impatient hooves and bleating filled the afternoon air, “If we don’t feed them soon, they might develop a hunger for more than oats.”


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for their patience, I know it’s been a while. I know he holidays are over but I am late on getting these chapters done so mind the seasonal setting. Comments and feedback are always appreciated :)

It was odd looking out the window in December to find the sun in the sky and the streets free of snow. Wakanda was beautiful all year round; too beautiful. You were suddenly very homesick as you sat in your office, missing the snow storms which accompanied the holidays. You sighed and stared listlessly at your computer. 

In the new year, you would start to assemble the physical displays for the World’s Fair. That was easy enough for a former curator. Yet, the work was growing less enticing. You had spent months articulately planning for the fair. Your days and nights were as busy as ever and your life on the goat farm had grown hectic. Early mornings and late nights. If you weren’t poring over books and articles, you were out in the fields training with Bucky or Okoye. It felt as if you never had a moment to just stop and sit.

You leaned back and ran your hand over your forehead with a sigh. Your home felt so far away and your previous life so long ago. It wasn’t that this new life wasn’t happy, it was merely a chaos you had yet to attune to. You tapped your fingers along the edge of your desk, an inch away from your phone which lay face down; muted so that you were undisturbed.

You picked it up and unlocked the screen; no messages.  _Hmm, you usually had one or two from James by now._  At least a warning from Shuri that Okoye was planning another ambush for you that night. You opened your contacts and scrolled until you reach the only name in all caps: MOM. You hovered your thumb over her name, willing yourself to press down slowly.

Your stomach fluttered as you put the phone to your ear and listened to the ringing. You were certain you would be sent to voicemail when a familiar voice jolted you.

“Y/N?” Your mother answered. “Well it’s about time you checked in. I only called about a dozen times yesterday. I know you’re busy but–”

“…Mom,” Your voice cracked as you closed your eyes. You felt a tingling in your nose, an omen of tears to come.

“Sweetie?” She stopped herself before she could descend further into her rant. Her voice was soft, almost startled. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. It’s just…” You exhaled, willing away the burning from your eyes. You rubbed them and sniffed. “I miss you. I miss home.”

“You know you’re always welcome, dear. You and the goat farmer,” She said, “And as I told you, you  _are_  coming home for Christmas.”

“Mom, I–”

“No arguments,” She interrupted, “You’re not leaving me alone and I am certainly not coming back there. I’m too old to be flitting around the globe.”

“I’ll come, okay? But I don’t know if James can,” You chewed your lip. “He’s not really a frequent flyer.”

“You will find a way,” Your mom insisted, “You’ve always been clever, sometimes too clever.”

“He has the goats…” You argued weakly.

“You can hire a sitter.” She said, “Besides, those beasts can tend to themselves.”

“Alright, Mom, I’ll bring him too, okay?” You suddenly weren’t missing home so much. “I love you, but I’m at work and I should get back to it.”

“That’s your problem, you work too much,” She reproached.

“I know.” You ceded, “Bye, Mom.”

“Love you,” She surrendered, “Take care of yourself, girlie.”

With that, you hit end and returned to your contacts, clicking on another. The same ringing sounded from the speaker but this time no answer. You knew Bucky hated his phone (his second) but he usually answered when you called. Maybe he was feeding the goats. You dialed the next number and Shuri picked up almost immediately, laughter coloured her voice.

“Y/N,” She chuckled as you heard odd electronic buzzing in the background, “What a coincidence that you should be calling right now.”

“Is it?” You asked.

“A little,” She said cryptically, “When’s your break? You should come down to lab.”

“I don’t know if I have time,” Your computer darkened and the screensaver started bouncing from wall to wall.

“No, you should come,” She insisted; an order really. “Be here in fifteen minutes.”

“I’ve already had my lunch,” You countered.

“At your desk, no doubt,” She scoffed, “Come on or I’ll send Okoye to escort you.”

You sighed and shook your head.  _Why had you called her?_  She only ever dragged you into her mischief. “Fine,” You said and ended the call, pushing your chair away from the desk. You stood, stretching with a grunt before taking your purse from beside the desk. You slid your phone in the front pocket and headed out the door with one last look across your cluttered office.

* * *

Shuri’s lab was as lively as ever. You made your way along the first corridor towards the same electric whirring you had heard over the phone. Shuri appeared in the circular doorway not far ahead, her face lighting up as she turned to you. 

“Y/N,” She sang as she approached you, “I was just getting ready to send for the Dora Milaje.”

“I’m here,” You grumbled, “Though I must ask why it was so pertinent that I come right this instance.”

“You sounded like you could use a break,” She waved you inside, “And maybe you’d like to spend it with Goat Boy over there.”

“Huh?” You followed her eyes as she looked back across the lab. Bucky stood with his back to you, his one arm tinkering with a series of metal tubes atop of laboratory slab. “What is he doing here?”

“I invited him here and he seemed all too eager to come. Jeez, Y/N, I thought you were here to keep him company,” She teased, “So that he didn’t spend all his time with those goats.”

“Yeah, well…” You looked away guiltily, “I thought so too.”

“Y/N,” Bucky called in welcome surprise as he glanced over his shoulder, “You done early?”

“On break,” You answered, setting down your purse before you neared him. As you approached, you saw the tubular contraption before him was some sort of firearm; well beyond any you had trained with. He was fiddling with its interior with a thin electrical needle. “What are you doing?”

“Calibration,” He answered, his blue eyes back on his work.

“Oh?” You sputtered curiously. All he had ever done was tend to the farm and read; it was rare seeing him in this circumstance.

“During the war, my unit used weapons beyond anything you would see in history books. Top secret firearms. And in the time when I wasn’t…myself, I was exposed to enough guns to supply the entire German army. If there’s one thing I know, it’s this.” He explained, setting aside the tool as the whirring ceased. “I’ve been helping Shuri with some of her new stuff.”

“Been  _helping_?” You were suddenly embarrassed.  _How long had it been since you had asked him about his day?_  “Shit, James, how long have you been coming here?”

“About a month,” He shrugged, “I figured since you’ve been so busy, I should find something to do myself.”

“I guess I’ve been selfish,” You muttered, “I’m sorry, Bucky.”

“Why? I can’t expect you to sacrifice everything for me and I like this stuff,” He was still smiling. “You’re not the only one whose work is going to be at the World’s Fair. I’m helping Shuri prep all this for the tech section.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” You frowned.

“I…heh, wanted to see how it went first and I wanted it to be a surprise,” He took your hand in his gently, “I wanted you to be proud.”

“I am,” You said, squeezing his hand, “And, well, I have a surprise for you too.”

“For me?” His forehead wrinkled, “A good one?”

“Well, it depends on your perspective.” You replied, “I was just speaking with my mom and she is still insisting on me coming home for Christmas.”

“Home?” He frowned.

“Home, and not alone,” You said, “She wants you there, Bucky, and she’s not taking no for an answer.”

“I can’t go back,” He argued, “I’m still a fugitive.”

“I have a private jet you can borrow,” Shuri approached, her arms crossed as she smirked. “You two need some time away from here and I need some time away from Goat Boy.”

“Don’t act like you’re not going to miss me,” Bucky retorted.

“So you’ll go?” You asked.

“Of course,” He bent and kissed you as Shuri snorted in disgust and turned away. “It’s been a while since I had a chance to celebrate Christmas. The last I remember clearly I spent on the front.”

“Uh, yeah,” You had to remind yourself that times were truly different for him. “Don’t worry, I’ll put an orange in your stocking.”

“You still do that these days?” He tilted his head.

“Not really,” You chuckled, “But I’ve done my research.”

“Oh,” His face fell and you spotted that old reticence wash over him. That which had drawn you to him back in the museum.

“It’s not that much different,” You assured him, “Presents, dinner, and family. What more could you ask for?”


	45. Chapter 45

Despite the privilege of a private jet, your flight had been no less stressful. At first, it was only your anxiety which kept you awake but then it was Bucky’s. You had been so concerned with your own worries; you hadn’t been home in months and your mother always had a way of making stressful times better and worse. 

 It hadn’t been until an hour into the flight that you had noticed. You had squeezed our eyes shut for that first while, trying to get some sleep on the long nocturnal journey to keep your nerves at bay, but you felt a hand settle atop yours and squeeze gently. You looked over at Bucky’s guilty smiled underlined with dread. “Sorry, I didn’t meant to wake you,” He kept his voice low though there were no other passengers aboard to disturb. 

“You didn’t.” You sat up, “Can’t sleep.” You looked him over, “You okay?” 

“Nervous,” He admitted softly, “I don’t spend much time around other people and…well, I am still a fugitive.” 

“Which is why we have a Wakandan jet,” You assured him, “It is undetectable by both the human eye and radar. At least, Shuri said so.” 

“I know.” He frowned, “She’s a smart girl. I trust her and I know she’s taken all precaution in doing this for us but, I just, back on the farm, it was safe. I didn’t have to worry about losing you. Out here, in the real world, I can lose everything.” 

“Don’t think like that, James,” You pushed your fingers through his and squeezed his hand, “We can’t think like that, right? I mean, what are the odds that I would find you in the middle of my museum, hmmm?” 

“I guess,” He leaned his head back and sighed. 

“Although, you might just belong in a museum these days,” You snickered and he raised a brow, looking over at you darkly. 

 “Maybe I do,” He remarked, “I do have my very own curator.” 

You giggled and slumped back in your seat, settling against Bucky as his grip on your hand lessened. You felt the tension leave him and yourself. You didn’t have to worry about taking care of yourself, because you took care of each other. 

* * *

By the time you were in the taxi on the way to your mother’s house, you were ready to pass out. You regretted those hours on the plane you had spent wide awake for the unending maelstrom of nerves which never quite left your stomach. Bucky looked little better for wear but it was bright and snowy on this side of the world. It was also Christmas Eve and your mother was ever the festive type. 

You climbed out of the cab with a groan, helping Bucky with the bags as you bemoaned your cramped limbs and heavy eyelids. A yawn overcame you as you stretched, staring up at the snowy facade of your mother’s home. You grabbed the handle of your rolling bag and began to drag it up the freshly cleared walk. You felt even worse that your mother hadn’t waited for you to shovel the sidewalk instead. “

So, this is your mom’s house?” Bucky mused as you stepped up to the front door. A wreath of poinsettia stared back at you as you knocked. 

“Yup. I was staying here before I took off for Wakanda. Locked away in a tiny office right beneath the attic,” You grumbled, “Brooding over some man who’d left me high and dry.” 

“Hey,” He elbowed you, nearly losing hold of his own bag as he did. You smirked at him, unable to unleash another quip as the door opened. 

“Finally,” Steve greeted, “We’ve been waiting for you.” 

“Steve?” Bucky’s forehead wrinkled in confusion and you met his shocked look with your own. “What are you doing here?” 

“Merry Christmas to you, too, Buck,” Steve smiled. “I brought the whole team. Nora invited us.” 

“Oh my god,” You muttered. It was typical of your mom. “How did she even invite you?” 

“Well, she asked for my number when we met and she’s a hard woman to deny.” He shrugged. You squinted at him for a moment. _Nope, your mom was just her pervy old self and bullied this poor super soldier into attending her Christmas Eve brunch_. 

“The whole team?” Bucky sounded anxious. “Well, just Sam and Nat. Wanda’s got other plans,” He explained, “Come on, you two.” He stepped back to let you in, “We’ll introduce Y/N before her mother gets to her.” Steve turned to you, “You’re mom is a very impatient woman.” 

“I know,” You said as you led Bucky through the door, kicking off your boots before shedding them on the mat with the rest. “Sneaky, too.”

Once you stripped yourself of coat and parked your bags by the front closet, Steve led you into the living room. An audience awaited you, two figures you had only ever seen on new reports, though it took you a moments to recognize Natasha Romanoff through her dyed blonde bob. 

“Well if it isn’t the one-armed wonder,” The other guest, Sam Wilson, better known as Falcon stood to greet Bucky. “And this must be the woman crazy enough to put up with him.” 

“Nice to see you too, Pigeon Boy,” Bucky jibed and you sneered at him. 

“Y/N,” You introduced yourself, “I recognize you from the news.” 

“How could you forget a face like mine?” Sam quipped. 

“Nat,” The infamous Black Widow named herself without rising. “You must be the daughter of that insane woman who made me help her stuff the turkey.” 

“Oh come on, Nat, you’ve done worse than that before,” Steve chuckled, “But you’re mom is a bit…scary.” 

“Trust me, I kno–” The kitchen door swung open and a delighted squeal pierced the air. Your mother, her hands covered in flour, whisked past the super soldiers and closed you in her arms. 

 “Finally,” She chimed, rocking you in her arms before releasing you. “Oh, your sweaters before I forget.” She wiped her hands on her apron and spun around, retrieving two wrapped bundles from under the tree. You looked around and noticed the wool jumpers worn by all but yourself and Bucky.  _Oh god, she didn’t._   “For you,” She gave you one and shoved the other into Bucky’s hands, “Brunch is almost ready and I expect a jolly old time.” You looked to Bucky and he smiled awkwardly, your mother pulling him off-kilter as she embraced him.”Thank you for bringing my daughter home!” 

“Thanks for inviting me,” Bucky returned, gripping his present nervously as she let him go. 

“Go on and put ‘em on and you,” Your mom pointed at your sharply, “Come help me set the table.” Your mom swept back across the room and into the kitchen, humming a carol merrily as she disappeared behind the door. Slowly you ripped the paper to reveal your sweater, a bright green mess knitted to look like an elf’s uniform. You shook your head a reluctantly pulled it over  your head. 

You turned to Bucky as he did the same, the reindeer face across his chest with a light bulb sewn on as a nose made you guffaw. “Don’t,” He warned everyone and you reached over to the small wire at the back of his neck, powering on the red bulb.

“Perfect,” You smirked, kissing his cheek before evading his glare. You quickly scurried into the kitchen, your mom stacking plates and silverware for you to carry out to the dining room. 

“So,” She said in her devilish way, “Do fill me in on this palatial life you’ve been building with the ravishing goat farmer.” 


End file.
